It's a Dog's Life, Cross My Heart And Hope To Die
by Amateurhuman
Summary: "An IED, a moment of confusion and a stray hail of bullets from an insurgent landed her in a field hospital in critical condition. " Yeah, that's what Chloe told Max had happened when she got her Purple Heart. She just didn't want to talk about it, and she couldn't talk about much of the details either (classified, you know), but this is the real story.


As a big fan of WinTTY's Greyhound fanfic (read it over at AO3, I don't think WinTTY has imported this story over here yet) I wanted to speculate about what really happened between Houndin' For You and Hero of War. So, here's my take.

* * *

**It's a Dog's Life, Cross My Heart And Want To Die**

Lieutenant Benjamin Collins, 3rd Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment, US Army, hadn't expected Combat Outpost Archibald to look like much. He had been in Afghanistan for no more than two weeks but had already seen his fair share of miserable mountain villages and godforsaken dust-ridden hell holes. But, he had definitely expected the outpost to look more than this.

The camp was situated on a low rise, in the middle of the wide and dry Peskala valley in the south-east of the Kandahar Province. As the convoy he rode in rumbled closer he could discern a man-high steel wire fence that enclosed much of the area, and some sandbags piled on top of each other in some kind of defence positions here and there, but on the whole it looked more like an abandoned construction site than an army base. The two main buildings, consisted of two low afghan style mud and straw houses placed in an L - formation, was probably an old abandoned farm. The houses looked like they could crumble or topple over any minute, but the roofs were constructed of sheets of corrugated steel and seemed relatively new. A ten meter antenna rose above the top of the nearest building, swaying lazily in the tepid wind that relentlessly blew through the wide and dry valley floor. Two army tents, one small and one bigger, were propped up along the other fence, creating a small courtyard in the middle between the tents and the mud buildings. At one side six Humvee light personnel transports and two standard Mk 23 army trucks stood parked, though half of the vehicles were covered in tan tarpaulins. A couple of multi colored containers lay strewn over the place in seemingly no particular order, and a small diesel generator, sheltered under an olive green plastic housing, stood humming in a corner, providing electricity for, he presumed, light, air conditioning, and heating; it's thick black cables snaked over the ground and heaved themselves in through windows at the back of the buildings.

The vehicle convoy of one army truck and two armed MRAPs, mine resistant ambush protected vehicles, one in front and one after the truck, came to a halt in a cloud of dust. Lieutenant Collins, who rode in the foremost MRAP, opened the side door and jumped down on the gravel with a crunch, feeling relieved to, after a five hour drive in mountainous terrain along bumpy trails, pink poppy fields billowing in the wind, and dry stony riverbeds, finally be able to stretch his legs and cool off a bit in the breeze. The trip from Forward Operations Base Sweeney had been mercifully eventless. This convoy was one of the monthly supply runs so there was already a number of soldiers coming to help with unloading the truck, chitchatting with the chauffeurs and convoy guards about news or goods delivered.

As he stood there taking a breather while wiping sweat and grime from his forehead, a young black soldier in plain combat fatigues and large thick- rimmed eyeglasses balancing on his nose briskly walked up to him and saluted.

"Lieutenant, welcome to COP Archibald." The young soldier gave him a wide smile. "I am Staff Sergeant North, acting platoon chief. Boy am I glad to see you."

Collings put away his handkerchief and returned the salute. "Thanks, Sergeant."

North was shortish and slim of built, but his smile was kind and behind the army issued eyeglasses his big brown eyes where attentive.

"We've been without a real platoon leader here since Lieutenant Jones stepped on a rusty nail and got shipped out to FOB Wolverine for treatment two weeks ago. I've covered for him during this time and I have no idea what I am doing."

Collins looked around and nothet that the camp looked sufficiently neat and ordered. A soldier were on guard in a makeshift watchtower built on top of a roof, the rest were now flocking around the trucks, helping with the unloading and stowing of supplies.

"Looks all right to me." He turned back to Sergeant North. " I heard about Lieutenant Jones' accident. Bad luck."

Lieutenant Jones had stepped on something pointy that had pierced right through the sole of his combat boot and deep into the arch of his right foot. It had become badly infected and the platoon leader had to be airlifted away with helicopter after some days of high fever and a purple, swollen foot. Luckily he had survived the blood-poisoning, but Jones would be convalescent for at least two months or more. Afghanistan was a dangerous place, and life in the army undoubtedly prepared you for the worst; Collins had already been shot at and heard about former classmates from officer school being wounded in combat, but he had never considered that just walking around the base could be life threatening. He shook his head with a grim face. Afghanistan held just too many nasty surprises for his taste.

"I noted you only have Humvees, no protected transports? I though no- one rode unprotected any more."

North shrugged.

"We still do out here. Got the word that some MRAPs should come our way a couple of weeks ago, but we are still waiting. We got to use what we've got." Sergeant North nodded and gestured to the nearest building. "Come, I'll show you to your quarters."

As they started walking over the gravelled yard someone caught his eyes. Tall and muscular, with the blond hair in a closely cropped crew cut and clad in combat fatigues, but undeniably female. It made Collins pause. He turned to North and almost sneered.

"I wasn't informed of any flacks."  
"Flacks, sir?"  
"Embedded journalists."  
"Oh." North shot him a glance. "We got no reporters here, sir, just soldiers."  
"But, that's clearly a woman," Collins said and nodded at the blonde as she hefted a box of MREs from the back of the truck.  
"Ah, that's Corporal Price, or Bulldog as we call her. She's infantry, sir. One of the boys, so to speak."  
Collins tried to hide his surprise and blurted out "I see," but inside his

mind was reeling. He had heard the army had begun accepting women, but he had no idea they were already being deployed in combat roles. Collins wasn't sure what was worst, having a female infantryman or being responsible for an embedded journalist in the field. He decided a soldier was better, though not by much. Or maybe it really was worse? A journalist would return home sooner or later, after all. He found North standing and looking at him with a guarded face. Collins had obviously stood silent and in though for too long for not looking like he was fully okay with this Corporal Price. He could as well continue asking about her right away.

"Is she..." he thought through his words carefully not to sound prejudiced. " Is she doing all right?"

"Corporal Price? Yes, of course, sir, she is a good piece of gear."  
Collins nodded.  
"And there hasn't been any... kind of... problems?"  
North gave him a hesitant stare from behind his thick-rimmed eyeglasses. "Sir, have you ever heard of _any _military unit without any kind of problems? But no, she is doing all right and she doesn't cause any trouble. Not on base and not on patrol."

"Good," Collins answered, sounding more doubtful than he wanted. He had to talk to this corporal Price later and try to get a grasp of her. A female infantry soldier wasn't something he had ever heard of, it made him feel uneasy as it was an unknown factor, and he hated any form of unknown factors. There were enough of them in this war already, both known unknowns and unknown unknowns. Right now this whole base and its personnel was mostly unknown territory for him too, but he intended to change that rapidly. He just hoped it didn't hide any more unpleasant surprises. He turned to North again, who already had walked several steps towards the door in the nearest building.

"Sergeant, wait."  
North halted in his step and turned.  
"Just one last question. Why is Corporal Price called Bulldog? It's clearly not because of her looks."  
North almost laughed out loud before restraining himself.  
"Oh, no sir, it's because of her charm, I suppose."  
When Collins gave him a blank stare, Corporal North cleared his throat and continued, "Well, the saying goes that she is extremely relentless. And I believe it. She had some problems keeping up initially during basic training but she never gave up, though the drill Lieutenants threw everything they had at her. Only an iron will would get through all that shit without giving up. She never mentions it herself, but from what I've heard from others they were fucking bastards." North gave him a smile and shrugged. "Pardon my french, sir."

When Collins didn't follow up with more questions, North gestured to the door right ahead.

"The operations room and your quarters are this way, sir."

The convoy vehicles had returned for COB Sweeney as soon as they had unloaded all their goods, as they wanted to get back to base before sundown. After installing himself in the small and sparse platoon Lieutenant's room, Collins had ordered the squad leaders to have their soldiers in formation on the gravelled square in the middle of the base, then he had addressed the platoon, though roughly one-third of the men were out on patrol and weren't expected back until the evening. His little speech where he had presented himself, who he was and where he came from, had been short and wavering, and the response had been lukewarm at best. But that was expected, Collins knew he didn't have the most stem-winding personality. Oh well, at least he knew what he should work on to improve in the future as he hopefully progressed up the ranks. Now he had more pressing matters.

He and North took refuge in the operations room, which consisted of a pretty small space with dirt floor, two boarded windows, a square table in the middle, a desk and chair with a radio on one wall, and a small iron stove burner and a file cabinet in opposing corners. On the wall over the desk two big maps hung; one depicting the Peskala valley and the neighbouring areas, the other a closeup of the base and its immediate surroundings. Both maps were peppered with small pins with plastic heads in many different colors.

"It's not the cosiest of workplaces, I know," North said as he sat down on one of the wooden chairs around the square table, a cup of hot instant coffee in his hand. "It's kind of short on personality, but it works."

North had fetched a couple of folders from the file cabinet and now spread them out on the table top. "Here are the patrol schedules," He opened a thick folder and slid it over to Collins. "The color of the squads corresponds to the pins on the map. Our main mission is to patrol the valley and the regions here and here," North pointed at areas south and east of the Peskala valley. "There's a lot of poppy farming going on around here and our task is to discover and stop any insurgent-related activity, and root out any of their drug processing facilities we stumble over."

"Yes, of course. And how many drug labs have you found to date?" North splayed his hands.  
"None, actually. It's a lot of terrain to cover for just us, and it's hard footwork up in the mountains. The proverbial needle in a haystack-problem, if you know what I mean."

Collins nodded. Considering the huge area they had to cover they where severely understaffed here, he could see that just by glancing at the big map on the wall. He turned back to Sergeant North.

"I saw many poppy fields on my trip here. Why don't we just burn them down and get rid of the problem at the root level so to speak?"

North shook his head.

"Oh no, we can't do that. We _protect _the poppy fields around here. Didn't you know?"

"You... what?" Collins stared back.

"Our orders are to protect the farmers and their poppy fields. In this part of the sand pit, Afghanistan that is, almost everyone grows poppy for a living. It's over ten times more profitable than growing wheat or pistachios or whatever, and every penny counts here where they have almost nothing. Our main cause is with the insurgents, not with the locals. We need a good relationship with them to be able to do our job, and burning down their livelihood would not help us in that."

Collins shook his head.

"You actually mean we are helping the drug producers to produce narcotics that they can sell to the rest of the world?"

"Helping and helping..." North shrugged. "I know it's kinda weird, but as long as the money doesn't go to the enemy there is not much we can do. The problems with drug producing, and policing it, that's the job of the Afghan government. And until drug money stops finding its way into the pockets of Afghan officials we will probably not see an end to it in the foreseeable future."

"I... I can't believe we are supporting this." Collins looked back at North with a face full of disbelief. "Do the politicians at home know? The big brass?"

"Can't imagine they don't. I mean, that's where the orders come from. But the main objective is to fight the enemy, right? And, more importantly, to win, whatever that means. Everything else comes second. Besides, I've heard most of the opium and heroin from here goes via Pakistan straight to the European market; only a tiny percentage ends up in the good ole US of A, so they are not loosing much sleep over that I guess."

After North had finished his little speech, Collins just sat in silence and stared back at him, then at the big map on the wall with all its plastic pins, then back at North, not knowing how to continue. The silence dragged on.

"Well," said North at last with a shrug of his narrow shoulders, "Orders are orders, and there would be a lot worse around here with us gone, I can at least assure you of that." He gestured at the spread of documents on the table. "Back to business?"

Collins exhaled and nodded.  
"Yes."  
They studied the guard and patrol schemes and routes thoroughly. Collins also checked orders, the daily routines on the base and a plethora of intelligence reports. Everything seemed to be all right. Sergeant North had handled the task of interim platoon leadership competently and thoroughly. Collins looked up and nodded.

"All in all, you've done a good job here, Sergeant"

"Thanks," Sergeant North said and smiled awkwardly, "But I just continued from where Lieutenant Jones left off, shaking up the routes and schedules a little bit here and there not to become too predictable for the eyes that watches us."

"Still, well done. And about that, there hasn't been much hostile activity around here for a long time, right?"

"It's true." North nodded his head slowly, "And it worries me a bit, to be honest." He fetched a folder and rummaged through it, then handed it over to Collins. "Not a single incident for over two weeks. Enough to make you suspicious I think."

"Or maybe we just got lucky?" Collins gave him a look from under raised eyebrows.

Sergeant North just scoffed thinly. "Lucky? Yeah, right."

They rose up from the table simultaneously. Collins collected the documents and folders and put them into a sizeable pile in the middle of the table.

"Okay, thank you Sergeant, we are done for now. I'll let you go back to your squad." Collins then gave North a thoughtful look before glancing at his wrist watch. "Can you... Can you send in Corporal Price to me, by the way? I would like a word with her now."

"At ease."

Corporal Price went from stiff attention to standing with her booted feet at shoulder width and her hands behind her back in one fleeting motion. Collins, still seated at the table in the operations room, though the folders and documents were now back in the file cabinet, quickly glanced over her uniform. It was well-fitting, clean and neat. It wore an insignia that identified her as a lance corporal. Below sat a combat medic badge which surprised Collins a bit. Her cap was poised on top of her blonde cropped head, and, despite being worn at an angle, gave her a smart look. Underneath its rim her clear blue eyes met his, but they didn't reveal any emotions. Neither did his. He gave the woman a small nod.

"So, Corporal, is this your first tour in Afghanistan?"  
"Second, sir."  
"I see. You work under Sergeant Diaz in the third squad. And you are the squad's designated marksman?" "I am, sir."

"What rifle do you equip?" Collins nodded at the weapon she carried slung on her back. He could only see the end of the barrel and the black flash hider sticking up over her right shoulder. "The EBR14 or the SDM-R?"

"The EBR, sir."

Collins raised his eyebrows. The EBR and the SDM where both heavier than a standard rifle, as they were both longer and sturdier and had a scope and a bipod mounted on the barrel, but while the SDM-R was just a modified version of the standard army rifle, using the same ammunition, the EBTR was chambered for a larger and more powerful cartridge which gave it longer reach and greater stopping power, but it also made the rifle even more bulky and harder to shoot. And Price, though tall and muscular for a woman, was still the smallest soldier in her squad, by far.  
"Really? Isn't it a bit, um, heavy?"  
"Oh I can handle it just fine, sir. And I prefer the extra range and punch it delivers. Comes in handy when it's at."  
"So, you have used it in combat then?"  
He instantly regretted the question, because it was really dumb. Price just arched an eyebrow at him.  
"Of course, sir."  
She seemed professional and confident, bordering on cocky, but he liked that. Self assuredness and decisiveness was what you needed to survive out here, provided that it was backed up by real skill and smarts of course. Not wanting to dig himself deeper into the hole he had begun shovelling, Collins felt it was time to change the subject.

"What do you think of army life, then? Do you feel you fit in? Well, considering you are a... a..."

Collins halted his words.

_Keep digging, you fool. _

"A woman, sir? As a fish in water, sir, although there isn't much water around here, to be fair. Sir."

He gave her a questioning look, a small smirk forming on his face, but she continued without missing a beat.

"Well, I love the army, sir. Has kept me out of a whole lotta trouble, if you know what I mean. And the guys are wholesome."

It was something about her deadpan tone and posture that made him grin. Right. He shook his head and chortled, hiding the smile from her view.

"That's good to hear. What are your plans for when you are done with this?" He nodded vaguely around, indicating either the tour, or the army as a whole.

"I am more of a girl that take the day as it comes, sir. But I am sure I'll figure it out when I get there."

"Okay, that's fine I suppose." He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Do you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"I do, sir." A shadow of a smile flickered over her face as she obviously though about her loved one. That was good. She had her romantic focus elsewhere. Very good.

"And what's the name of the lucky guy?" "Uh, it's, uh, Max, sir."  
He nodded, satisfied.  
"Always good to have someone at home." "Roger that, sir."

Collins gave her a thin, but genuine, smile. He wasn't usually one to smile much, though he had already done it three times during this short interview. It was kind of weird.

Somehow he got the feeling her relationship with this guy Max was something fairly new, and he hoped that it would survive the tour. It wasn't just soldiers and locals that fell victim to the war; a lot of relationships did too. If not during service, then when the soldier came home. Many veterans had difficulties adjusting to a life in peacetime, and in many cases it affected the closest family the most. He looked back straight into Lance Corporal Price's ice blue eyes. She seemed rock solid, though he knew by experience that appearance could deceive. And circumstances could change, fast. Collins nodded at her again.

"That will be all for now, Corporal. Dismissed."

She saluted smartly, turned on the spot and quickly marched out the door, probably relieved that the interview was over. Collins was, at least. His eyes followed her back out in the harsh afternoon sunlight outside, while deep in thought. The worries he had felt were somewhat alleviated; corporal Price seemed to be a stable and competent soldier after all, but there really wasn't any way to know for sure until he had seen her in combat himself.

_Oh well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. No need to rush toward our graves. _

The next few days where hectic ones. Lieutenant Collins oversaw a strengthening and reorganisation of the base's defences, and it was hard work for everyone involved; digging in the stony ground to create ditches, filling up sandbags to build up additional defence positions and bettering the ones already existing, and fortifying the makeshift watchtower to better protect against sniper fire. They also relocated the containers to provide some cover and moved the big fuel tank to a more secure position and piling up sandbags at its most vulnerable sides. They also spent some time shooting in the 81 mm mortar on areas most likely to be attacked from, if an attack should come. Combined with the regular patrols, tasks and guard duties, the platoon had their hands full, but no-one really grumbled about it. Well, that was a lie, actually. Though the squad leaders did what they were told, the men did grumble, and he had overheard them more than once calling him names, the most popular one being Lieutenant Colon. Well, hadn't he heard that before. At least here no-one said it straight to his face.

I the evenings Collins discussed the results of the patrolling and intel gathering with the squad leaders. Their local contact in the area was a police sergeant, Azam Chaman-Gul, who resided in a nearby village. He was responsible for all the police forces in their area of operation and was infamous for his use of harsh methods, sometimes way outside the law; they had heard rumours of both kidnappings and gruesome torture, and they wanted as little to do with him and his subordinates as possible. Still, he was their primary source among the local governance and he had given them some valuable information in the past regarding illegal drug shipments and whereabouts of enemy insurgents, but for the last couple of weeks the flow of intel from the police sergeant seemed to have dried up considerably.

"We need to find out what's the matter with this sergeant Chaman-Gul." Collins looked around the table at his three squad leaders. "You all agree that there is something going on?"

Sergeant Oderman, the blonde and burly leader of first squad, snorted, "That guy is fishy through and through, but we need him. My gut feeling says there is something up, yes."

The other squad leaders, North and Diaz, a tall, solemn youth with dark, deep set eyes, nodded in agreement. Collins leaned back on his squeaking wooden chair and rapped his pencil on the table top.

"All right. I want to set up a meeting with Chaman-Gul. I need to talk to him face to face. Hopefully we can work something out or find out what the holdup is. Maybe we have to reconsider his remuneration or even his contact status if this continues." Collins looked each of them in the eyes. "We need to get the information flowing again or else we're practically blind out here."

To bring about a meeting with Chaman-Gul was easier said than done. Day after day passed without any progress; the police sergeant was either busy or simply unavailable, not returning calls. Collins had begun to suspect their source was avoiding them altogether, but one morning when he was out inspecting the new latrine, radio operator Castillo came running with a sheet of paper flapping in his grasp.

"Lieutenant!" Castillo stopped and caught his breath in front of Collins before saluting and offering the note to him. "Sir, we've got a time and place for the showdown," he panted. " Look, here."

"About time." Collins grabbed the torn out notebook page from corporal Castillo's outstretched hand and looked it over, deciphering the letters scribbled there, his face scrunched in discontent.

"Two hours from now? Is he serious? And this place, 'Sunj Moleka', it's a village, right?"

"Yes sir, a small one, about ten klicks to the southeast of here."  
Collins looked up, still wearing a frown on his face.  
"Do we have a map over it?"  
"We do, but I am not sure of its accuracy, sir. Some of our stuff is pretty old,

like, decades old."  
"Okay, but it's better than nothing." Collins started to walk away in the opposite direction, though still turned to Castillo. "Go fetch it for me while I talk to the sergeants. And call back second squad from their patrol, I want everyone back on base as quickly as possible."

"Will do, sir."

Sergeant North and his squad had left before sunrise this morning in their two Humvees for a three day patrol in the northern parts of Peskala, but Collins had a nagging feeling in his gut about this whole situation. So, better to be safe than sorry, as the saying went; the patrol should be able to be back at COP Archibald before noon at the latest.

Corporal Castillo left for the radio room as Collin went and informed Sergeant Oderman that he was in command of the base while he and Sergeant Diaz, along with third squad, would meet with Azam Chaman-Gul in the village of Sunj Moleka.

They set off over the dusty plain towards the far away mountain ridge, barely visible through the haze at the horizon, where the village Sunj Moleka was located. Collins sat in the back of the first Humvee. He had the tall and big muscled private Cheung to his right and corporal Price to his left. Private Williams drove and Sergeant Diaz rode shotgun. Everyone was in full battle- rattle, helmets on and rifles at their sides. The other half of the squad travelled in the second car, trailing a good fifty meters behind them in case of an IED or attack.

As soon as they left the camp, Diaz pressed down play on the old tape deck at the front and the song 'Ice ice baby' with Vanilla Ice started to thump from the speakers. Everyone in the car started to bob their heads to the rhythm. Well, everybody except Collins. He stared around at them with an incredulous face.

After enduring the infantile music and painful lyrics for more than a minute, he just couldn't take it any more. Collins raised his voice over the music.

"Diaz, can we please cut this crap?"

Diaz lowered the volume but he didn't turn it off. He looked back with a grin on his face.

"Well, sir, it's a bit of a tradition for us to start every patrol with this song. Also, it tells us where the safe zone ends and where we need to veer off into the rough, you know?"

"It tells you?"

"Yes, sir, wait and see." Diaz said and turned the volume up to max again. Collins rolled his eyes. Around him, everyone was really into the beats and the lyrics of the song. Suddenly they all shouted 'Beachfront Avenue!' and with a quick turn of the wheel from Williams, they rumbled out in the terrain under whoops and laughter.

They continued driving off road, traversing the rough landscape through stony fields, dry river beds and farmlands, driving around larger obstacles like ditches, boulders, clusters of chargas scrubs or the odd grove of trees growing here and there. The off road drive was safer but definitely more uncomfortable and time consuming. The trip that normally would take about ten minutes now stretched out for over an hour. One big part of that was of course that Collins, after consulting the maps, had decided to take another route to their destination. By taking the long way around they wouldn't give away their presence from as long a distance, and they could also use the elevated terrain to scout the area around the meeting place before arriving. Hopefully the police sergeant would still there by then. Collins looked impatiently at his wristwatch. They had reached the mountain slope twenty minutes ago and were now following it westwards. They should be close to the village by now, but time was running up. He felt the vehicle slow down and looked up at sergeant Diaz.

"What's going on?"

Diaz pointed up a barren hillside where small dots of black, gold and brown where spread out over the dusty gray-green grass between islands of spiky shrubs.

"Sheep, sir."

They both reached for their binoculars and scanned the area. Diaz lowered his and glanced at Collins. "Maybe we can have a little chat?"

Collins pursed this lips. "We are a bit short of time."  
"Well," Diaz shrugged. "It's your call, but it shouldn't take long." Collins glanced at his watch again and sighed. "Okay, five minutes." They drove a bit closer but stopped at a distance of about fifty meters. A

young boy in a wide gray kaftan and trousers, a rust colored woollen hat on his head, rose and stood watching them with wide eyes as they approached. The karakul sheep grazed on around him without giving the vehicle as much as a glance. Diaz turned around in his seat and looked at Corporal Price.

"Bulldog?"

"On it, Chief." Price grabbed her rifle and jumped out the door, slamming it shut while Diaz turned to private Cheung.

"Mellow, you man the gun."

"Yessir." Cheung rose in his seat and threw the roof hatch open with a bang, then unlocked the big M2 heavy machine gun that sat there on a c- shaped swivel-mount, with a loud 'klack'.

"Hey, take it easy, man," Williams yawped up to Cheung. "You're scaring the poor kid."

The boy seemed to be more curious than afraid though, as Price jogged closer. Ten paces or so from the boy she slowed down to a walk and greeted him with a raised hand. He gestured back, though he seemed a bit hesitant at first. Collins followed every move they made with his binoculars through the rolled down side window. How old could the boy be? About eight years maybe, or ten? He really had no idea, having no children of his own he had always been really bad at judging the age of children.

Price now kneeled down by the kid. They seemed to be talking effortlessly, both gesticulated vigorously in the air with their hands. Collins noticed that Price had removed her gloves.

"Does Price speak Pashto?" He asked out in the air. It came out sounding more baffled than he had expected, but no-one seemed to take notice.

"We all do, more or less, some words at least." Diaz answered him. "But Price is pretty good at it. When there are kids or women we send out Bulldog, but men just gets freaked out by her. In those cases Ganjaman go instead."

Collins lowered his binoculars and gave Sergeant Diaz a stare. "Who's Ganjaman?"  
Diaz just smirked and nodded at Williams, who grinned toothily and shrugged. "Sahar mo nekmrgha, aja delta jau zook angresi chabare kawi?" He had taken a crash course in Pashto so Collins understood the words,

though he was sure he wasn't able to pronounce them with the same ease and flow as Williams. It was one of the first sentences you learned: _Good morning, do you speak English? _

Without a word, Collins raised the binoculars to his eyes again. The boy was now smiling widely. He answered something and Price nodded. She turned and pointed at them. They continued to converse for a while, then Price took off her helmet and bowed her head down.

"What is she doing?" Mumbled Collins, "She shouldn't remove her helmet like that."

The boy stretched out a slender arm and touched her thick stubble of wheat-blonde hair with a small hand, a smile of wonder on his face as he patted her head for a little while. Then Price put the helmet back and reached out and quickly tousled his dark locks and playfully dragged his pakol hat down over his eyes, before slipping something small from her pocket into his hand. She rose up and waved at the boy as she started to briskly walk back against the Humvee. The boy righted his hat hastily and waved back at her, still wearing a wide smile on his little face.

When Corporal Price got closer, Collins opened the door for her and moved aside to give back her seat.

"Anything useful?" Diaz asked as Williams started the big engine with a rumble and slowly began to roll forward.

"Maybe." Price said as she closed the door and placed her rifle between her knees, its butt between her feet. "A couple of men, strangers, some of them possibly foreigners, passed the village three days ago. There were five of them, armed and not police or army, so probably insurgents. They talked to the village elder but the boy didn't know about what, just that it was a heated discussion. He said the elder forbade any of the village's young men to follow them, but some did anyway. The boy's older brother was one of them, which made his parents really up in arms. The men left in the middle of the night that same day and it has been calm around here since then."

"Shit," muttered Diaz, "They probably aren't the only group mucking about in our backyard, and we haven't seen a trace of them. And not a single word about it from our 'friend' mister policeman either. Splendid."

"Not good news," Collins agreed, "but we stick to the plan." He looked down at the map he had folded out over his knee. "We should be there any minute now."

He scanned the surroundings and after a little while he found what he was searching for. Collins felt a small wave of satisfaction wash over him. He had always been good with maps. He turned to Price. She was looking out the window to the hill where the boy and his sheep stood, now barely discernible in the distance, an unreadable expression on her face. He almost didn't want to intrude in her thoughts, whatever they might be. Collins cleared his throat to get her attention. It felt very un-armylike.

"Corporal, this is your stop." He gave her a handheld radio and pointed at an outcrop a couple of hundred meters away, balancing over the slope down the other side of the hill. "From around that cliff you should have a good view of the village on the other side. Report back anything suspicious immediately." Collins looked her straight in the eyes. "In case of an escalating threat, you do have permission to fire. Got it?"

Corporal Price nodded curtly, then repeated back to him what he just had said and gave him a thumbs up. "All righty boss, got it."

Williams at the driving wheel slowed the car down to walking speed and she jumped out of the slow rolling Humvee and sprinted away, her rifle held high in front of her as she ran and jumped over the uneven rocky ground. Williams swerved the car ninety degrees in the other direction and accelerated down the gentle slope, making Price shrink fast in the rear view mirror until she had disappeared completely. After a couple of minutes of driving they found what must be the road marked on Collins map, though it looked more like a cattle trail. They followed it down the winding hillside for almost a kilometer, turning around a rocky offshoot to the foothill, then going back. This way they drove into the village from the north, hopefully tricking eventual spotters that they had come straight from their base, or at least distract them from where Price should be hiding by now. Collins looked at his watch for what surely must have been the hundredth time this morning, but nodded, satisfied, seeing that they weren't too badly overdue.

The village appeared before them as they drove around a bend in the road, looking like a pile of dirt brown boxes strewn over the maroon hillside. It was a small village, maybe thirty houses all in all. To the left rose a steep gnarly ridge, smeared with random patches of bushy greenish-brown-red vegetation, sheltering the dwellings from south-eastern monsoon winds. Somewhere along that ridge corporal Price were lying, rifle at the ready, keeping the village under a close watch. He hoped.

The road up ahead leapt over a small stone bridge spanning a now dry stream, and ended in a flat and stony field, squeezed in between the ridge to the west, the eastern mountain slope and the buildings.

Collins reached for the comms unit and spoke into it, sending to both Humvees.

"All right, this is it. Let's take it slow and gentle now, but be ready for anything. We can't trust this man."

Diaz turned to the rest of them in the vehicle as they slowly rolled over the narrow bridge: "You heard the man, fingers off, but keep'em forward."

As they drove nearer, Collins squinted his eyes, looking over the hodgepodge arrangement of buildings, trying to detect tactical advantages and traps in roofs, corners and narrow alleys. Almost absentmindedly he put the mic to his mouth again while focusing his eyes on the village ahead. They where just shy of a stones throw away now. He should've signalled sooner.

"Price, report."  
Corporal Price's voice came back in a whisper through the ear piece.

"Nothing sir, it's empty. No insurgents, no police, no nothing. It's practically a ghost town. A ghost village."

Collins though for a second.  
"No civilians at all?"  
"Not a living soul, sir." Price whispered, "And they seem to have left in a hurry. I can see..."  
"Fuck," Collins thought out loud.  
A heartbeat later, Corporal Price's voice retuned, sounding a bit startled though he could almost hear the amused expression on her face: "Sorry, sir?" Collins' cheeks heated up, and not only from the awkwardness of being caught swearing.  
"Hold on, Corporal."  
His heart had started pounding hard in his chest as he shouted out; "Stop right here!"  
Williams slammed the brakes and so did the Humvee behind too. He definitely had everyone's attention now. They were all looking at him, waiting for him to say something, to get them out of this boondoggle he had gotten them all into. Collins quickly tried to evaluate his options. When he didn't spoke immediately, Sergeant Diaz barked: "Cheung, machine-gun," then he grabbed his own com radio and called the trailing Humvee. "Jacoby, defensive position, fifteen meters, our left."

Cheung scrambled to man the heavy machine-gun on the Humvee's roof once more, the other Humvee stopped to their left, it's fire team spread out behind cover of the vehicle, except for private Ljunggren who brought its machine-gun to bear on the many hollow and empty windows that faced them from the village's buildings.

Diaz checked that everyone were at their positions, then he turned his piercing dark eyes to Collins.

"Your orders, sir?"

Lieutenant Collins mouth felt very dry as he tried to speak. He cleared his throat while trying to come to a decision. On the map things had looked quite different and he hadn't planned for this. If this indeed was a trap, then he had walked right into it. They had no cover here, the steep ridge close to their back, and only a narrow path to retreat on. They still had thirty meters to the outskirts of the village, but if they came any closer to it, they might be an even easier target. Should they retreat as fast as possible, or should they stay and wait and see? He must decide to do _something _at least. But his brain didn't want to cooperate.

_Everybody's got a plan until they get punched in the face... _

Diaz gave him an anxious glance and Collins opened his mouth so say something, anything, to reaffirm his command, but there came no sound, his tongue felt lika log lolling around in his mouth cavity. Suddenly his earpiece crackled and he heard Corporal Price's whispering voice again.

"Movement, sir. I see uniforms. Police, three of 'em."  
"Where?"  
"Main village road, coming straight at ya. Armed but looking easy. Contact in thirty seconds."  
Collins felt relief. Now he had something to work with at least. He spoke into his comm.  
"Can you identify Chaman-Gul?"  
There was a bit of a silence before Price answered.  
"In the affirmative, sir. I'd recognise that moustache a mile away." "Good," Collins said. "I need you to continue observe the surroundings, we'll keep watch on Gul and his goons. Collins out."  
He grabbed his rifle and jumped out of the vehicle down on the ground. "Diaz, you and Williams on me, the rest wait here."  
They walked towards the village side by side, their rifles at the ready. Three members of the Afghan police force rounded a corner and came walking towards them. They had their weapons slung over their shoulders, and the man in the middle, a tall handsome man of uncertain age, wearing a beret the same blu-green color as their police uniforms, and with an impressive walrus moustache, lifted a hand to greet them. Collins immediately recognised him from the intel reports. This was police sergeant Azam Chaman-Gul.

"Nice to finally meet you, Lieutenant Collins,"Chaman-Gul said as he stretched out his hand and gave him a wolfish grin. The sergeant spoke excellent English but with a pronounced accent.

"I am sorry that our first meeting got so hastily arranged, but I need to show you something. This way, please."

They turned around and Collins and his two companions were led along the main village road, which was curving up the hillside between houses, towards the centre of the little town. On the way Chaman-Gul gave small talk, praising the beautiful scenery around here, and asking Collins a lot of questions, but Collins only gave monosyllabic answers, as he always had been a catastrophic small talker, even when he did his best. Actually he tended to do even worse when giving it a serious try. When he could glance what looked like the town square up ahead, his ear pice crackled softly and he heard Price's low voice in his ear again.

"Losing sight of you, boss, I will need to relocate."

Collins discretely clicked his mic once as a confirmation. The police sergeant didn't need to know they were under watch. Collins liked to have at least one ace up his sleeve, however small it was.

After a short walk they entered a small square surrounded by two story mud brick buildings with flat roofs. Two more police officers waited here. In between them, hanging on the wall, was an elderly man in kaftan, his spindly arms bound behind his back, and had had his beard ripped or sloppily shaved off. His bare feet, blackened by bruises, hovered just a short distance over the ground. The rope round his neck stretched up and was fastened somewhere on the roof of the house. It looked like he had been whipped badly before he had been executed, and his face was almost black with blood and flies. It was the first time Colins had seen a beaten up and hanged human up close, and it wasn't pretty. He stared demonstratively at the body before turning his eyes on Chaman-Gul.

"Who was he? And the more important question; why?" Collins nodded at the hanged man.

"The village elder. Our hypothesis is that he didn't want to cooperate with the insurgents, so they punished him."

"So they came here and wanted his cooperation? With what?"

The police sergeant just shrugged. Collins looked around the village. Everything was dead silent. It still gave him chills.

"And where are everybody else?"

"If they were smart, they fled." Chaman-Gul answered. "They will probably be back tonight."

Collins looked at the hanged man once more, and it still made his gut revolve. So, they had been shown this heinous act by the insurgent force, but now what? The army couldn't be involved in a police investigation after all, there had to be something more to it. Maybe Moustaches knew something about the enemies whereabouts. Collins looked back att the police sergeant.

"Do you have any leads on where they are now?"

"Oh yes, I have." Chaman-Gul said and nodded slowly. "They are close, probably too close for your liking."

The sergeant gave him a smug smile and yelled something in Pashto. From the surrounding houses men streamed out; insurgents, clad in a variety of clothing styles, but all where armed to the teeth; rifles and machine-guns, knives at their sides, and a few even carried RPG's. In a couple of seconds they were completely surrounded. Collins saw how both Diaz and Williams twitched, but he barked, "Hold your fire!" And luckily they did. Sure, they might have brought down some of them, but in Collins' mind, it was better to be captured than dead. As long as there was life, there was hope, right?

The four police officers had also readied their submachine guns and now they walked forward and relieved the three soldiers of their rifles, grenades, and helmets, and threw everything in a heap on the ground at their side. Then Collins, Diaz and Williams were pushed down on their knees and ordered to put their hands on the back of their heads. Most of the men around them started to move out and they were left with three guards, one each behind their backs, and another insurgent who looked like some kind of leader. He was a stocky man in gray trousers and a frayed old camo jacket with two belts of ammo pouches crossed over his chest. His head was covered in a dark lungee turban, and a bushy black beard counterweighted his else quite youthful appearance. His eyes, though, looked hard and old beyond his years. Chaman-Gul and his four police officers stayed too. Though he had his heart in his throat and the pulse hammering at his temples, Collins looked up and tried to give the police sergeant a stern face.

"What's the meaning of this?"  
Chaman-Gul stared at him with a cool gaze as he stepped forward.  
"I am sorry, lieutenant, it's just that we don't want you here. "  
He ripped the radios from Collins and Diaz and added them to the pile of stuff beside them.  
"And I don't mean just you three, but we need to set an example. A warning example."  
The silence was total, then Diaz mumbled while staring down at the ground; "Oh, great, we are to be movie stars. I always wanted to be famous." "No shit, Chief," Williams mumbled back, a lopsided smile on his face.

"We just struck gold, didn't we?"  
Collins didn't share Diaz' and Williams' sense of humor at all. His voice

sounded quite angry when he spoke.  
"This is dishonourable. Killing civilians or unarmed combatants is a serious war crime."  
"War crime?" The police sergeant paused and looked truly surprised.

"And serious too?"  
Chaman-Gul walked up and stopped right before Collins, an incredulous expression on his face.

"Oh, I see. You think you are the good guys, do you? And we, " He gestured around, "Are the bad guys?"

"Dude, duh," Williams snarked.

Chaman-Gul shook his head.

"Do you really believe you and your allies are following the so called rules of war? I'm sorry to break it to you, but you are not. Not as long as you can get away with it, and bending and twisting the rules to your favour when you can't. And often letting others do your dirty work. I know, we have studied you for a long time, and really close up."

"At least we do not torture and hang old men just because they don't agree with us." Collins snarled. He immediately regretted lashing out, but it was hard to not let the feelings take control in this situation, even if he knew it was the wrong thing to do. As he had suspected, it just made the police sergeant laugh out loud.

"This is funny." Chaman-Gul straightened up with a small humorless smile on his face, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't think your side are killing civilans? Or unarmed combatants?" The sergeant started to pace to and fro in front of the three prisoners. "Or setting examples for that matter?

Of innocents? Maybe Guantanamo rings a bell? Bagram? Damadola? Abu Ghraib?" The sergeant raised his eyebrows at him. "Or Mu Lai, maybe? There are a lot more in your 'spotless past' as you may know." His humorless smile widened. "Shall I continue?"

"Oh shut it." Diaz scoffed. "Save your pep talk for your gullible fifteen year old recruits instead."

"Gullible fifteen year olds?" Chaman-Gul stopped in his tracks. "Gullible!"

He demonstratively shook his head in disbelief.

"This county's fifteen year olds have known war their whole life, as have their parents. They know perfectly well what it is all about. The truth is, it's _you _who are gullible and know nothing of war." He pointed at Diaz with a stabbing gesture. In his eyes a flame had ignited. "Ask yourself, in your heart, why are you here? For whom, and for what cause? And are you really ready to give you life for it? Answer me that if you can, because everyone here, except you, can."

Diaz seemed like he wanted to retort, but decided to keep his mouth shut. It was the right call Collins agreed, and the police sergeant wasn't really waiting for an answer anyway, instead he continued talking with the same fervour as before.

"The second truth, that you need to learn, all of you, is that there are no rules in war. Except winning. And to win, you have to survice, because dead men win no wars. To survive, you need to be hard-bitten and unbending. And, unfortunately, sometimes you have to do bad things."

Chaman-Gul turned and gave them each a hard look.

"To quote one of your own great military leaders; war is cruel, and there is no use trying to reform it. The crueller it is, the sooner it will be over. "

The police sergeant made a mock thoughtful face before continuing. "So, according to him, we obviously haven't been cruel enough. So far." The prisoners were silent, and Chaman-Gul made an appreciating nod at that. When he spoke next, his voice was back to it's regular composed self.

"This is my cousin Bahramand."  
Chaman-Gul signed for the insurgent leader to come over.  
"He is a 'Turan', that's a captain in your words, so you will treat him as a

senior officer. He will demand your respect," The police sergeant let his gaze wander between the three prisoners, "And he will get it, understood?"

The Turan walked up and stood beside the police sergeant. He gave them all a surly look, but said nothing. Chaman-Gul took some steps backwards and raised his hand in good bye.  
"Anyhow, my work here is done. Have a nice day, gentlemen."  
The police sergeant turned his back on them and started to walk away down a village road, the four police officers followed in his wake.  
"Yeah, fuck off," Williams began, but was interrupted by the rattling and booming sound of a firefight.  
They all stopped and listened. Collin strained his hearing, but couldn't discern the deep thrumming sound from the Humvees heavy machine-guns, nor the ear-pining bangs from the 40 milimetre grenades. Or not even the short bursts from the M4 carbines, though those were much harder to pick out in the general ruckus. What he did hear though, was the distinct swooshing sound and explosions from Russian made RPG's. Then everything went silent. The attack had lasted less than a minute. The squad had been outnumbered at least three to one, but it seemed strange that they had not fired a singel shot. Could it really be that they had been completely taken by surprise, and consequently had been totally wiped out? The Turan and their three guards whooped triumphantly and shook their rifles in the air, firing some shots themselves straight up in the air. Collins glanced at Diaz at his side, and he leader of first squad looked back, pale in the face, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. Williams reaction was a bit more emotional. He tried to rise up while shouting expletives at the insurgent leader, but he was quickly beat down by a thrust in the back from the rifle butt of his guard. Williams continued to shout angrily though, and the Turan walked up to him, staring at him intensively, then he drew a long knife from his belt and started waving it in front of his face, giving Williams a broad smile which looked everything but friendly. He said something in Pashto and Williams retorted in the same language. It looked like it hit home, because the Turan's face immediately went from irritated to an angry blood red. He hastily took a step forward and kicked Williams hard in the stomach. Williams, having no possibility to defend himself, fell face down and, desperately struggling for breath, curled up in a fetal position on the ground. The insurgent leader, still screaming harangues in pashto, raised his rugged boot to stomp down on Williams contorted face when they heard a high pitched buzzing noice. The Turan fell down and lay still, sprawled on the beige ground like a rag doll. It took two long seconds before Collins understood what was going on. The insurgent leader had been hit squarely in the chest by a long range shot from a high powered rifle.

"Down, down!" Collins shouted as he threw himself to the ground and rolled. The buzzing noise sounded again, thrice this time around, and two of their guards fell down, the third one, Diaz' guard, staggered to one side, his left arm hanging like on a thread. Diaz stumbled to his feet and lunged at his reeling opponent, but he was too slow. The insurgent managed to get away a few shots and hit Diaz in the body, making him grund and topple over, but dragging down the guard in the fall. They started to struggle, both bleeding considerably from their respective wounds. Collins turned around on the gravel and came face to face with his own guard. The young man still had a surprised look on his face as he sputtered pink froth over his beard, trying to draw breath with destroyed lungs that were quickly filling up with blood. Collins grabbed the rifle from his quivering hands and rolled up to his knees and quickly checked that the weapon was loaded and that the safety was off.

"Diaz!" Collins shouted as he lifted the rifle to aim, "Get away!"  
Diaz let go of his opponent's rifle that they both had fought over and rolled to the side, grimacing in pain. The last remaining guard struggled up to a sitting position and lifted his carbine with one hand, taking aim at Diaz, but Collins was already pulling the trigger, sending a spray of bullets in the insurgents chest at almost point-blank range.

In the silence that followed they heard a laugh ring out. It was Williams, still on the ground and cackling like a madman. His face was a bloody mess from what looked like a broken nose.

"...I love you, Bulldog," Williams panted between fits of laughter, "I fucking love you..."

Collins rushed to Diaz's side and started checking his wound. The bullet had gone straight through the body armor on his right side. There was a lot of blood, but the wound seemed to be superficial.

"I'm fine, sir" Diaz groaned. "Just a flesh wound. Not... like that." He nodded at the perforated guard lying at the side, stone dead.

"You need to get it dressed." Collins said and turned to Williams. "Hey! Get over here and help with the bandage."  
Collins ran over to where all their stuff still lay in a big pile. He thew away the guard's weapon he was holding and grabbed his own rifle instead, and his radio. The radio was still functioning, though his ears still rang after the shots just fired.

"Price! Price, are you there?" He shouted in the mic. After a second of silence Price's calm voice came back over the earpiece.

"Mama's here. Now get them on their feet, you can't linger."

With pounding heart Collins found his helmet and put it on, then he jogged over with the rest of the equipment to where Williams were still patching up Diaz.

"That'll have to do for now," he said to Williams as he handed over his weapon and helmet, "We need to go, now."

"Sir," Diaz huffed breathlessly, while looking up at him with his dark and serious eyes, "If they attacked us here... Archie..."

Collins got cold all over, because Diaz was unfortunately correct in his analysis. If the insurgents dared to ambush them like this, it could only mean that an attack on combat outpost Archibald was imminent, if it wasn't already underway. And the base was grossly undermanned now; only defended by first squad and a couple of specialists. It would be a massacre. Another massacre. Collins felt his mood darken even more. He wasn't doing very well on his first assignment.

"You're right." Collins muttered, "We need to warn them immediately. And get there ourselves as soon as possible."

His ear piece crackled again, and Price's voice sounded once again, but this time she sounded pretty annoyed.

"Come on, idiots, move your asses. Hostiles are coming back your way, up the main road, so don't go that way."

Collins didn't have time to acknowledge, instead he helped Williams get Diaz on his feet.

"Williams, you support him, I'll take point."

As they started to hastily limp towards an alley leading away from the town square, Collins gave the hanged village elder a last look. The sad remains of what had once been a human being made him queasy, and not only by the gruesome picture it painted, but even more by the injustice of it all. Collins still believed that there could be rules, and justice, in war, and he sincerely hoped that the police sergeant and this band of murderers would get their fair share of it.

When they had come a couple of meters down the alley and started to navigate through the maze of narrow criss-crossing roads between brown mud-brick houses, Collins paused and contacted Price over radio again.

"Okay, where now?"

"You need to hurry straight through the village, then move northeast to link up with the rest of the squad. I had them go hide in that ditch outside town just before hell broke loose. But our rides are bust."

"What? How..?" Collins began.

"No time, sir. Just get going. We'll create a little diversion in a moment to buy you some time. I'm going to meet up with the others now. Please hurry, sir. Price out."

There was no way Collins could suppress his grin when he turned to Diaz and Williams, who both gave him questioning stares.

"The squad," Collins whispered, "They're all right. Don't ask me how." He nodded down the road. "Let's go."

The broad smiles on their faces melted away in a heart beat when they heard harsh shouts and the running steps of booted feet from where they just had come. The insurgent soldiers had found the dead Turan and the three guards, and now they came searching for the perpetrators. Collins eyes was drawn to Diaz and his right side, where a big red stain of blood was visible, slowly but constantly growing in size. They were being hunted now, and they couldn't move much faster than walking speed.

"This way, on the double," Collins whispered and began to lead them down the sloped alleyway towards the edge of the village where the first squad was waiting, hiding in a dried out stream, probably less than one hundred meters away. So close, yet so far away. Collins scoffed silently at the thought. Seldom had that battered old saying felt more true.

The echoes of running boots seemed to close in from all sides, and Collins had begun looking for good defensive spots as it looked like they would have contact any second now. But he found nothing that would give them enough advantage, if any. Maybe they could try hiding inside a house, though the insurgents must be searching through the houses, else they would have been caught in no time. If they had been able to move just a little bit faster, or have a little more time, they would've had a chance to escape. Now they had to fight, and against pretty unfavourable odds. Together, they had their M4 carbines and a couple of hand grenades, and Williams, as a grenadier, carried an underslung singel shot grenade launcher on his rifle, which in itself had some awesome firepower. So, sure, they wouldn't sell themselves cheap.

Collins turned around and signed frantically to the others to get in through the nearest door. He had heard footsteps, lots of them, nearing from the other side of a corner. They dove through the opening and hunkered down in the dusky light, trying to be as quiet as possible. They were in what looked like some kind of small stable or shed without windows, and, of course, no backdoor. The pungent mell of animal was almost overbearing for Collins' untrained nose, and he desperately fought an urge to sneeze. A group of five or six insurgent warriors had stopped right outside their hiding place, now talking animatedly between themselves, pointing hither and thither. Someone would look into the shed any moment now and discover the three soldiers there, and that would be that. Collins slowly and silently switched his rifle's safety to off and aimed the nearest man, moving his index finger from outside the trigger guard and making it rest lightly on the trigger. They could maybe, maybe that is, take out all these hostiles, but it would irrefutably call on the attention of the other insurgents. Then this would become a real hornets nest. He glanced to his side and saw both Williams and Diaz, also with rifles at the ready, faces tense and eyes glinting in the darkness, just waiting for him to fire the first shot.

The group of insurgent soldiers abruptly stopped talking. Collins could hear it too; a barrage of gunfire and explosions sounded from just outside the village. The group of armed men hasted away and left Collins and his two colleagues staring in surprise at each other. Thank the gods for that diversion! Collins peaked out to check that the street outside was clear. He gestured for the others to follow him.

They ducked between some houses and were slowed down by some low walls they had to climb over, but with help Diaz could roll over them and they were soon at the village-limit. Straight ahead they saw a small house who was placed in a way that, if it had a window in the other direction, would give them a good vantage point for covering the firefight ahead. It was worth a chance. They barged through the blue scruffy looking door, almost throwing it off its hinges, and rushed into the house's only tiny little room. Both the walls and the floor where decorated with beautifully embroidered rugs in a variety of colours, and in the middle was a low round table. At the table, on big cushions on the floor, sat two ancient looking Afghanistan women, small gold rimmed glass tea cups in their frail hands, staring at them as they came to a stop in the middle of the room.

The room had a narrow window right ahead, just as Collins had hoped. But as he entered the room, he didn't come to a stop fast enough. The surprise of seeing the two old ladies there made him stumble and bump into the table which in turn sent the pot of tea flying. Miraculously he managed to catch it with his left hand, spilling hot tea all over his glove and on the floor. The small pewter bowl of raisins he couldn't save, though, and it landed upside down on the carpeted floor, spreading a mass of small crinkly fruits everywhere. Collins carefully put the steaming iron pot back on the table and picked up the pewter bowl too, as he nodded to the women and tried his best to look friendly. He could only imagine how they looked; storming in with their dirty boots on, weapons ready, Diaz limping along with a big bloody bandage and Williams with the lower part of his face smeared with coagulating blood, looking like something straight out of a zombie movie.

"I am very sorry, ladies,"Collins said. "We need to borrow your home a little while."

They didn't appear to understand his words, but one of the women, the oldest and most frail-looking, painstakingly rose up from her sitting position and slowly started to trudge the short distance over the floor towards a small delicately decorated corner cupboard. Hopefully not to fetch a weapon.

"Please, ma'am, sit down," Collins ordered her but she didn't give a rat's ass about what he was saying, so Collins just shook his head and told Williams to keep her under observation.

Up ahead the diversion had developed into a full scale firefight. Collin tried to get a grasp of the situation as he peeked out of the window. He could see the rest of the squad taking cover in the ditch as Price had said. It looked sufficient, but the tactical situation wasn't ideal. As for now the insurgents had taken position in the village, and a stretch of about a hundred meters of open ground separated the two forces with no dead space; no obstacles or geographical features that would make and advance possible. But the squad could very easily be outflanked, and there was no apparent way of retreat from the dried up stream if that should happen. As soon as the insurgent force understood that, his men would be in serious trouble. The two Humvees stood some distance away, one of them burning furiously, a huge back pillar of smoke rising above it, the other one only smouldering but leaning heavily on one side as both tires on the left side had been blown off. It was covered with bullet holes. So, as Price had said, they had no means of transport except on foot. That was not good.

When Collins turned back from the window the old lady had put out three extra cups on the table for them, and with a sure hand had started to pour. A pleasant aroma of cardamom filled the room. When she was done the old woman gestured at the tea cups with a grave face.

"Stara mashim, stara mashim."

Her thin voice was even harder to hear through the clamorous noice of the firefight that took place less than a hundred meters away. Collins looked at her, then to Williams who stood guard by the door.

"Uh, Williams, can you tell her we are a bit busy here?"  
Williams gave him a lopsided smile with his bloody face.  
"Actually, sir, it would be extremely rude to not accepting her invitation, the way we stormed in here and everything."  
Collins gave him a look. "You can't be serious..."  
Williams tilted his head ever so slightly.  
"Dead serious, sir, though I'm not telling you what to do."  
Collins exhaled deeply and nodded to the old woman.  
"Diaz, keep watch through the window. And Williams, how do you say 'thank you'?"  
"Oh, there are a lot of different ways to say..."  
"Pick one," Collins said as he sat down on a pillow opposite the two old ladies.  
"Nirboorni," said Williams after a short thinking paus.  
Collins said his thanks and the old woman nodded in reply. Then she lifted her cup, gesturing for him to do the same. They drank together. Collins was decidedly more a coffee person, but the tea was strong and sweet and full of flavour, and he found that he quite liked it. The other old woman, who hadn't said or done much since they had broken into their home, now slid over the flat pewter bowl to him while speaking friendly words that he didn't understood. The bowl still contained a couple of raisins, and Collins picked one and put in his mouth. As he chewed the woman continued to talk to him as if he ought to understand every word she said. He nodded awkwardly and wished he could glance at Williams face to see if he responded correctly, but Williams was still positioned at the door behind his back. Collin wondered how soon he could rise without being too impolite. It had to be soon. Lives where at stake here and that had to take precedence.

"Sir," Diaz huffed. His breathing was considerable more laboured than before and he looked a bit pale, "Something's happening. I think they are about to be surrounded."

Collins grabbed his rifle and jumped to his feet. "Lets go."

He was about to apologise to the two women, but they just waved him away, nodding and giving him encouraging smiles. Collins looked out the window again and saw that a small band of perhaps six or seven insurgents where moving in the cover of some walls and sheds at the outskirts of the village. Collins assumed that the mud brick walls would not really suffice as cover; a bullet would most likely go straight through without loosing much of its stopping power. But, it was good concealment. A wall or a shed could only provide concealment from one side, though, and Collins and his little group of soldiers were on the opposite side where the insurgents where totally exposed. If they were fast they could get in position for an ambush. But they needed to move quick and silent, and now. Collins signed for them to move out and they rushed out on the narrow street again, but this time Collins was careful not to slam the door when they left the little house.

Collins and Williams ran along the street and rounded a corner about ten-fifteen meters away from the house they had just left. He wanted to have at least some kind of safety buffer, because he would hate for a stray bullet, or worse, a grenade, to hit the old ladies' house. Diaz came limping after them, not being able to go faster than walking speed by himself.

They hunkered down behind a thorny bush of a species Collins didn't recognise, and prepared for the attack.

"Grenades first," Collin whispered and unhooked his only grenade from his harness. He turned to Diaz. "Can you throw?"

Diaz shook his head. "Negative, sir, but I can shoot."

"Right. You take position at this corner and provide fire support. Williams?"

Williams nodded.

"Directly after impact we need to assault them before they have the opportunity to take cover," Collins whispered, "Understood? Speed will trump numbers, so we will take them hard and fast."'

"Hard and fast it is then, sir" Williams whispered back, his face a mix of dread and mirth.

Collins slapped his shoulder in what he hoped was encouraging.

"Okay, let's do this. On my mark."

They kneeled in complete stillness for what felt like ages before the first insurgent fighter came scuttling in a crouching style along the wall ahead. Colins could feel Williams tense at his side. Now the rest of the insurgents came running in a very disciplined way, with wide gaps between them which would make the ambush a lot less effective, but there wasn't much Collins could do about that. It would never be a better opportunity to take them out than now. In the middle, two men where carrying a machine gun and a RPG. They would be slowest to respond so Colin decided to attack the queue first, then the front and then the middle. If they got really lucky they could take out the whole group just with the two grenades, but he didn't count on that.

Time to roll the dice of destiny. Collins gave the sign.

The hand grenades sailed through the air in shallow arcs. Williams grenade bounced on the side of the wall before dropping down at the feet of one of the insurgents. Collins throw was a bit short, but luckily still within effective range. The explosions sounded more like fireworks than bombs but the effect was devastating. Diaz opened fire from his hiding place, and Collins and Williams rushed forward, out in the open. This was the time you hoped you had serviced your weapon thoroughly, because a malfunction now would put a surprise ending to the party; the only thing worse than getting a boom when you were expecting a click was getting a click when you expected a boom. Collins pressed the trigger and the rifle fired, downing two insurgents within seconds, then it was over. Williams had eliminated one, Diaz another, and the rest had been taken out by the grenades.

Panting, they rushed back to cover behind the building again. Collins hands where still shaking considerably from adrenaline when he activated his com-radio.

"Collins here, what's the situation, over?"

He didn't receive a response from either Price or Jacoby, so he repeated the message. This time Jacoby answered, the earpiece crackled from the gunfire in the background.

"They are in front of us, and we are flanked on both sides. They can't get away from us now, sir."

"Uh, acknowledged," Colins responded, "We are coming in from the east. One wounded. Check your fire, please."

They moved as hastily as they could to the stream and started to follow it back towards the rest of the squad. The dried out stream wa more like a sandy ditch, and was at some parts barely deep enough to give them cover when they crouched, and the bent down movement caused Diaz considerable pain. Colins could hear Diaz' rattling breath, and when he spat the spitball was red from blood.

"Sir, I think that's more than a flesh wound," Williams whispered to him, his eyes wide in alarm.

When Collins turned and looked Diaz in the eyes, he could see that he was pale, gleaming with sweat and looking totally exhausted.

"No problem, sir," Diaz almost stuttered, "I'll make it."

Collins pursed his lips and nodded, then gestured for them to continue. They had no other options at the moment anyway, and the faster they could get away from here, the sooner Diaz could get the medial attention he needed.

As Collins saw it, the only credible route for retreat was along the stream, continuing to where it came down from the hills, and then lose their pursuers among the cliffs and crevices of the mountains. This plan had only one glaring caveat; they would need someone to cover their retreat.

They rounded a bend and came upon private Cheung. He was firing his machine-gun in short bursts agains the roof of a building a hundred meters away or so.

"Give me a report, private." Collins peeked over the rim of the trench to get a look at the enemy. He hadn't time to see much before bullets started to hail down around him, which made him retreat down the trench again. They moved a couple of meters to the side and together with Cheung he popped up his head again.

"They have two machine-guns, one on that roof there, and the other one in that building, in the window up there." Cheung pointed at two houses in the village , situated pretty wide apart from each other. "They are well protected and are giving us some pain, sir, and we are out of 40 millimetre grenades."

A couple of bullets hit the sand a few feet away and they ducked down once more.

"As you see they have us pretty much pinned down, sir."

"Acknowledged. We will be moving out soon. Can you take us to Jacoby?"

They found Jacoby and the rest of the squad just ten meters ahead, also hunkered down in the dried out stream. Collins were briefed by Jacoby but there wasn't much that Collins already hadn't deduced. They were almost out of ammunitions and hadn't been able to get in contact with the base, with was not good, but on the other hand, no-one was seriously wounded except Diaz, which was good. Collins began to quickly count the soldiers. All were here except one. He turned back to Jacoby.

"Isn't Price with you?"  
"No, sir, haven't heard from her for a while,"  
Collins could see on Jacobys expression that he was as concerned about that as himself.  
_Dang it, Price, where are you_? _We need to move.  
_They couldn't wait much longer before they had to retreat from here.

Collins pictured the map of the village and its surroundings in his head and felt a chill travel up his spine. He had done another grave misstake in his long list of mistakes today; the way he had positioned Price, there was no way for her to reach them without either go through the village or straight over the open ground just ahead. None of those two alternatives were feasible. If she actually had tried to do any of that, chances where that Price was already captured or dead. Collins didn't know which of those alternatives was worse, and he didn't want to linger on it. What he was sure of, though, was that _if _she had been captured, they would not be able to save her the way she had saved them. He activated his com-radio.

"Price? Price, come in," Collins spoke into the mic, but his ear pice was dead silent. He made another couple of tries, but the result was the same. He looked at Jacoby and shook his head.

"We need to go now. It's just a matter of time before they build the confidence to make a final assault, and then we are in trouble."

Collin pointed backwards to the big rocky outcrop that they had passed om their way here.

"You take the men to the foot of the mountain, I'll stay behind and wait for Price and cover your retreat. Start your clock when you get there. If we aren't back in fifteen mintes, you take the squad back to base by any means possible, they need to be warned about the assault. Got it?"

Jacoby nodded. Collins let his look wander between all their faces. They all loked tired after being under fire, but he could also see hard determination in their faces. No-one was about to break it seemed. That was good. They would make it back to base, he was sure of it.  
Collins felt that he should say something to the men. It was very likely

that he wouldn't make it back himself, and he wanted to say that they were all good soldiers and that he was proud to have been serving with them, even if just for a very short time. Collins knew he had no gift with words though, so he was afraid it would just fall flat. And, besides, these kinds of speeches probaly only occurred in the movies. Instead he just cleared his throat and said; "Good work everybody, now move out."

The group hustled to get ready, but Williams made no notion to move where he kneeled at Collins side.

"Sir," Williams said. "With your permission, I'll stay too. You need someone to watch your back, sir."

"No need, soldier. " Colins retorted, "I will manage."  
"Also, sir, I very much want to see Bulldog back safe, sir."  
Collins looked at Williams. He knew he and Price were close; they had been friends since before the army, since they were kids, maybe, having grown up in the same little town on the Oregon coast, and it looked like Williams wouldn't take no for an answer. And, to be honest, two defenders were much better than one. Collins sighed inside.

"Alright, Williams stays with me. Everybody else: go now."  
"Sir."  
It was Cheung this time. Collins made a grimace and turned to the huge soldier. Cheung stared him sternly in the eyes.  
"I'll stay too, sir, if I may."He patted the side of his M249 machine gun, "I just need some more ammo to feed Chucky here."  
Collins chewed his lips, then nodded slowly, which made the big man

show a wide predatory grin in return. Cheung and his machine gun would sure come in handy, he was not denying that. In the corner of his eye, Collins saw how Diaz started to raise his hand with an ash-gray face. Collins shook his head at him, "Oh no, not you, Diaz," Then he turned to the rest of them. Collins had a feeling they would all stay if he didn't put an end to this folly.

"No more volunteers, and that's and order. Give us all the ammo you can spare, then get going."

Hunkered down in the sandy ditch, they all quickly scrounged for ammunition and in the end had a couple of extra magazines that they handed over to Cheung, and four hand grenades of which Williams and Collins took two each. Collins grabbed Jacoby by the shoulder and looked the boyish, pug- nosed soldier in the face.

"Fifteen minutes, okay? Then you head home."  
Jacob nodded in reply.  
"Yes, sir, fifteen minutes."  
Then Jacoby signed to the others and with the rustling and soft clinking

sounds of equipment they all disappeared around the bend ahead in the dried out stream, leaving Collins, Williams and Cheung to cover their retreat. And wait for Price, wherever she was right now.

They took position in the trench and stuck their heads up above the rim. This time they weren't met with sprays of bullets. In fact, everything seemed totally calm over there at the other side of the field. Collins picked up his binoculars and studied the village. He couldn't see any motion at all, anywhere, and it gave him an uncanny feeling. He turned to Williams, who lay to his left.

"Do you see..."

Williams put up a finger in a hushing gesture, then pointed over the field and whispered, "Can you hear?"

Collins strained his ears and he though he could hear something like a low murmur, rising and sinking in amplitude, but he had no idea what it was. Maybe his hearing was still muffled from the gunfire earlier. He shrugged to Williams, and Williams listened for a while longer before whispering again.

"I think they are praying, sir."  
"Praying? Now?"  
"Yes, sir. They often do before making a daring attack and stuff like that." "So, that means..?"  
"That means they are going to storm us, sir, soon."  
Collins felt like his stomach had turned to ice. Although he had been prepared for an attack, he had hoped for a bit more time for the squad to get away. Well, it wasn't much he could do about it. Collins turned his head to the right.

"Did you hear that, Cheung?"  
Cheung grinned at him with his signature cogwheel smile.  
"Oh, yes, sir, let them come. I'm ready."  
Collins picked up his binoculars again but was disturbed by Williams hand shaking his shoulder before he had the chance to start observe the other side.  
"Sir, look!"

Williams pointed to the left of the village. A small figure was moving fast towards the first still burning Humvee. Collins trained his binoculars on the person. What he saw made his heart jump in relief, but when he spoke his voice was even more devoid of feelings than usual.

"Yeah, that's Price all right."

She was running hard with a clenched face, her eyes staring blankly forward. She had dropped her helmet and body armour to be able to run faster, but in the pace she ran in, she would never be able to run all the way over to them, body armour or not. It was just impossible, even if she had been the best runner in the world. On the other hand she would not be able to get over in time if she ran any slower. It looked to Collins that there was jut no way she could make it, not before the insurgents came and caught her in the open, and that would be the end. It seemed like Williams was reading his mind, because he whimpered silently in despair and whispered;

"What the hell are you doing, Bulldog?"

Price, who had been forced to slow her speed a little after her initial dash, now passed behind the burning Humvee and continued running towards the second Humvee, who stood tilted on its blown off wheels about halfway between the village and the dry stream where Collins and the others where hiding. Her feet still beat as fast as drumsticks against the ground, but Price still had a long way to go before she was in any kind of safety. Too long.

_Run, Price, run. _

Collins checked his weapon and started to aim down its barrel towards the other side of the field, where the insurgents could be appearing any second now.

"Be ready to give Price cover fire. She'll need it."

As on a given signal bullets started to rain down over their position. On the other side of the field the insurgents now came running in a broad line, shouting their war cry. If it wasn't for the two machine gun nests protecting the attack with a constant hail of bullets, it would have been a suicide mission. Now it was a well coordinated assault. They were also twenty against three, so it kind of helped tipping the odds in the enemy's favour too.

As the insurgent warriors came about halfway, they started to make a fire and movement manoeuvre, where half of the force kept overwatch and provided additional suppressing fire while the other half moved in closer and then they alternated, creeping closer and closer to where Collins, Williams and Cheung where hiding, heads down during the smattering of bullets that hit the ground around them. They just couldn't stick up their heads now, that would mean death in a heartbeat. But staying here just waiting would mean death for all of them in about two minutes, so he had to come up with something, and sooner rather than later.

"Okay, here's what we are going to do," Colins shouted to the other two over the deafening sound of gunfire. "I'll draw their fire this way," He gestured along the ditch, the way they had come, back toward the village, "And you two go the other way, okay? When I have their attention you run like hell and try to meet up with the squad. And see if you can locate Price on the way. Then you move out immediately."

Collins had no idea about Price's whereabouts, though he feared the worst. But maybe, just maybe, she had managed to get down in the ditch further up somehow. Williams and Cheung both opened their mouth to argue, but Colins just shook his head.

"No time, soldiers," He pointed with his whole hand in the direction he had ordered them, "Go, now."

He turned, and without looking back, he ran.

In this situation, speed was much more important than posture. Running in a crouched style he would be about eighty percent protected by the rim of the ditch, but slow, which would make him more or less a sitting duck. Well, a walking duck, maybe. If he ran upstanding, he would be about sixty percent protected, but much faster. And with speed the chances of being hit decreased considerably, mitigating the increased target size. Or so he hoped.

The bullets started to zoom past Collins almost immediately. Lots and lots of them, but not one found its target.

He ran, five meters, ten meters, fifteen meters, and already his lungs felt like they where on fire. The bullets continued to fly past him left and right while he ran, some dangerously close. They whipped up the sand around him so it felt almost like running in hard rain. Collins had his eyes fixed on a bend in the stream just right up ahead. His throat ached with every painful breath he drew, his body armour dragged him down like an anchor around his neck, and his legs felt like heavy logs. With every step his boots sank down in the sand and slowed him down, but still Collins pressed on. If he could just reach that bend he would be far enough away.  
Somehow, someone managed to knock him on the head with something.

It made him lose his footing and after a couple of stumbling steps he fell facedown, butting his chin on something hard. Dazed, he turned around on the bottom of the ditch and stared up at the massive blue sky, where small fluffy clouds in imaginative shapes sailed by. From where he lay it looked like any regular summer day from his childhood Montana, now half a world and half a life away. He had laid like this back then too, staring at the sky, mesmerised by its slow transformations. Strangely enough, in this very moment, in his mind he was back to that time and place of innocence, and he felt happy, or at least content. Even if he was about to die in any moment. Collins also felt something warm and sticky trickle down his neck. A stinging pain in his scalp, a throbbing chin and a more dull ache in his shoulder, brought him back from his dream state. He jerked around, cursing under his breath as he fumbled after his rifle where it lay on the ground. He could still move, he could still defend himself, and every enemy he brought down with him would be one enemy less for the others to deal with.

With great effort, Collins got up on all fours and crawled towards the gravelly bank of the stream. The insurgents could be here any second now, and it was way better to meet them face on instead of with his backside up, so to speak. He could hear gunfire, as intense as before, but there was something about it that wasn't right.

Collins heard it again, and it was no mistake this time, and it made his heart sink. The unmistakably deep sonorous tak-tak-tak of a heavy machine gun forced its way through the other sounds of the battlefield, almost drowning it in its fear inducing thunder. Where the hell had it come from? The insurgents must have a technical; a pickup truck or a similar vehicle with the machine gun mounted on its back. That was bad news all around, not just for him, but for the rest of the squad, who could easily be overtaken and wiped out if they weren't able to lose their pursuers in the mountains. And to do that they needed to put a lot more distance between them and the insurgents. Collins tried desperately to think out a plan to neutralise the improvised military vehicle, but he knew he would never get close enough to be able to use his hand grenades. The only strategy he could think of was to try and puncture the vehicle's tires and at least buy the rest of the squad some time. He really wished he had Price with him now as he was far from a sharpshooter himself, but she was most likely lying in a pool of her own blood and guts out there somewhere. How had everything ended up this bad?

He heard wild shouts in pashto closing in. They were coming for him now. With sticky sweat, blood and dust on his brow, Collins peaked up over the edge of the ditch, his rifle at the ready to fire at the advancing insurgents. He may very well be on his last legs, but he would do his utmost to make him count.

The battlefield was utter chaos. People were running everywhere, and dead and injured lay strewn all over the field. Where the two machine gun nests had been now clouds of yellowish-gray dust and smoke rose from the partially collapsed dirt buildings, and the insurgents where making an unorganised retreat back to the village, the few of them that could still run. The heavy machine gun fired again, mowing down a pair of running hostiles just fifteen meters in front of him. The force of the shots were devastating, ripping limbs off and splitting open bodies in a gruesome cascade of blood and intestines. Collins had a hard time watching it, even if it was the enemy that seconds ago was about to shoot him down that got cut to pieces. Instead he averted his eyes and followed the trajectory to find out where that machine gun was firing from, and now Collins saw; someone had manned the turret of one of the crippled Humvees. The heavy gunfire had caught the insurgents in the flank and out in the open, and when they in panic had run for cover in the dry stream, Williams and Cheung had shot down the ones that came that far. The crossfire had been devastating and in seconds Collins could see no enemy still standing.

As Collins stood there watching, the Humvee's machine-gun became silent, and from the turret a slim figure climbed out, without body armour or helmet, lugging a long scoped rifle, and started to jog their way.

Price.

He started to run along the trench towards where Williams, Cheung and Price were meeting up, handslapping and hugging. As Collins came nearer he could hear them talk.

"Looks like you took one on the nose there, captain Barbarossa." Cheung said and patted the neck of Williams. "Your schnoz is at least double its regular size, which wasn't exactly small to begin with."

"If it's any consolation to you," Price added with a serious face, "However bad you will look after this, at least it can't possibly be worse than before."  
"Oh, fuck you, princess." Williams growled, but then they were all laughing.  
When Collins stopped at their side they all straightened, but where unable to suppress their grins. Collins head pounded and stung so much he was forced to bow down, resting his hands on his thighs, his head almost down between his knees.

"You are wounded, sir!" Cheung said and took a step closer, but Collins just raised a hand.

"I'm... fine..." he huffed, but strangely it was the truth. The adrenaline and endorphins rushing through his brain and body made him feel great, though he could also feel that his back was sticky with blood. He carefully raised his head back up again, and he could feel a small smile plastered on his lips. He blew out a long last huff.

"That was too close for comfort, right?" Collins said and looked at each of the three of them. "Well done, everyone. Very well done."

Williams looked back, a crooked smile displayed all over his face. "You are a crazy bastard, Lieutenant, do you know that?"  
Price and Cheung joined in and they all grinned again, except Collins

who just shook his head and gestured along the ditch.  
"We better get moving before they have time to regroup."  
"Regroup, sir?" Cheung said. "Can't be that many left to regroup." "Well, better safe than sorry. Williams, you take point, Cheung take the rear. Price, you are with me. I have some questions."  
Without a shot being fired from the village, they hurried back towards the assigned assembly point where Jacoby and the rest of the squad were waiting. Colins looked at his wrist watch. No more than seven minutes had passed since he had ordered Jacoby and the rest of the squad away, though it felt like seven years. They would be back within the fifteen minutes he had said. Neat.

He looked at Price at his side. She was dirty and sweat gleamed at the rim of her hairline, but else she looked unscathed. She still carried the hand held com-radio in her belt.

"Quick thinking there, Price. You saved our lives, twice. And getting to the Humvee an all that was damn brave."

"Had no choice," Price said and started digging in one of her many pockets.  
"Couldn't leave this in the enemy's hands, sir. That would be game over."  
She held up a scuffed old cassette tape titled 'Hip Hop Classics of the 90's'. Collins couldn't help but laugh out loud and shake his head, then he became serious again.  
"But why didn't you answer our calls?"  
He nodded at her radio.  
"Well, I was trying to sneak through the village and couldn't risk being detected, so I turned the radio off, then I didn't have time to turn it on again. Sorry about that, sir."

Collins agreed that it was understandable, but just grunted.  
"And what happened to you gear?"  
"Had to dump it, for speed and movability, sir. The body armor was my own, but the helmet I'll have to pay for, I guess. I'm not going back to fetch it now." Price gave him a worried glance. "Unless you order it of course, sir."

Collins shook his head and Price relaxed visibly.

"Maybe we can get back later for your equipment, if you remember where you stowed it."

Price nodded, then she gave him a questioning look.  
"Sir, you are aware that you have a bullet hole in your helmet, right? He hadn't really though about it, but he nodded nonetheless. "Lemme have a quick look at your head, sir. Won't take a minute. My first MOS was as a sixty-eight whiskey."  
68W, that was the code for combat medic.  
"Still dabble at it now and then, when needed," Price said as she searched her pockets for something. Collins removed his helmet and kneeled so she could get a closer look.

"The scalp has a gash in it that's still bleeding some, about an inch long, but it's pretty shallow."

Collins looked at the helmet in his hands. When he saw it he understood how lucky he had been. There was a hole the size of a dime in the back of the shell, a big tuft of frayed kevlar fibre stuck out above the brow on the front, where the bullet had passed out on its way through. A couple of millimetres lower and it would have been the end of the line right there.

Price poured something with a strong acrid smell in the wound. It burned, and the unexpected pain made him wince and draw for breath. Price then took up a roll of plaster and a scissor from a leg pocket and cut off a generous piece, covering the wound on top of his head. She tilted her head with pursed lips as she inspected her handiwork.

"Won't win you any prizes on the catwalk, but it will keep it from getting any worse for now."

"I better keep this on then, not to upset any of our more fashion- conscious G.I.s," Collins said as he rose and fastened his helmet.

"Yeah, I think you'd better," Price answer with a grin.

The sun had risen high on the almost cloudless sky as they followed the stream back. It snaked back north and they trotted on until the village of Sunj Moleka was finally out of sight. They soon came upon the other part of the squad, waiting in the shadow of a large outcrop of the foothill.

When they arrived a low murmur spread among the men waiting. Jacoby rose from where he and been sitting behind a tried bush of some sort, totally devoid of leaves.

"I can't believe it," he said, a big smile filled with wonder on his face, "We really though you were all toast."

"Yeah, well, we are smouldering at the hems for sure." Collins answered, "Have you had any contact with the base?"

Jacoby shook his head.

"Too far away, sir. And no signal on my cell either. Maybe moving further away from this ridge will help."

"Keep trying," Collin answered," It's imperative that we make contact as soon a possible. Life will depend on it."

"Understood , sir."

They took a short break to tend to wounds, and drink some water. Colins went round to the men to talk and check their status, both mentally and physically, and get a grip on how much water everybody had left. His soldiers were tired and some had smaller injuries and scratches, but they all seemed to be pretty cheery considering the circumstances. Collins didn't share their good mood. They were in the middle of enemy territory, without ammunitions or transport, and no way to contact the base for help. The water was already running out low and that would be a problem as they would

have to walk in the burning sun for the whole day to get back to base. Collins gave Diaz a look where he lay in the shadow of a cliff, taking shallow breaths. Collins was not sure Diaz would survice the march, even if they all took turns to carry him.

They heard the sound of a motor and like a swarm och cockroaches caught in the light they all scuttled to cover. The road going north were just a couple of hundred meters to their left side, and that road led directly from the village back to the base.

Collins brought up his trusted binoculars and put them up to his face. The sound came from a white Volkswagen bus that sped on pretty quickly along the road from the village. They were apparently in a big hurry to get away from there, and Collins couldn't blame them.

Collins turned to sign to everybody to stay low, as they had no idea if it was friends or foes in that car, when he heard shots echo out. Collins quickly sought the sound.

Price lay some distance away, her rifle propped up on its bipod, aiming at the speeding van. She was firing shot after shot in quick succession. Had she gone mad? Collins ran, back bent, towards her, anger building up inside him.

"Price! What are you doing!?"

She didn't seem to hear, instead she quickly reloaded and continued firing at the van.

"Cease fire, dammit!"

Corporal Price immediately stopped shooting, but continued to stare at the van through her scope as it sped away down the road, already more than four hundred meters away. Then, after a couple of seconds, it swerved over, abruptly drove off the dirt road down a shallow ditch, almost toppled over, and came to a standstill in a cloud of yellowish dust. Three figures in the green color of the afghan police uniform staggered out and began to limp away over the stony field towards a faraway ridge. Price let them be and instead rose and turned to him. Collins gave her as stern a look as he could.

"Corporal!" He huffed at her after the short but intense run. His head was pounding painfully, only pouring fuel on his anger. He pointed repeatedly in anger in the direction of the smoking Volkswagen down by the road. "Did I order you to shoot at that car? No? So can you explain what you were doing?"

Price looked back at him, straight in the eyes, with a calm stare.

"_Lieutenant_, we got at least six wounded, one severely so. And no Humvees. I figured we needed a transport, sir"

"But what if there are civilians in that car?" He continued to gesture vividly in the direction of the Volkswagen bus, "You couldn't possibly have known what you were shooting at..."

She tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, her blue eyes glinted under the rim of her cap.

"Sir, I'd recognise that moustache a mile away."

Collins shook his head and let out a deep sigh. This was the kind of things that got you court-martialled and dishonourably discharged from the army. But, they were in dire need of a transport, she was right about that. As good a shot as she were, Collins just prayed Price's eyes also were as good as she claimed them to be. He stood in though, staring at her for a while. He was up to his neck in problems right now, and Corporal Price may just have solved the most acute one for him, court-martial or not. He nodded slowly.

"Okay, point taken. Come with me and we'll inspect the transport and see if it's still in working order."

They jogged towards the abandoned police van side by side. They could not smell any gasoline or smoke, except from the exhaust fumes. The large van looked almost new, not counting the half a dozen bullet holes that was strewn in a wide pattern over the left side of the driver's compartment. They quickly checked the area and the vehicle for booby traps or hostiles but found none, except for the driver, who had been shot in the leg and in the chest. He looked very dead as he sat hunched over, both arms dangling down, hands almost reaching the floor in the footwell. The still face was pressed against the rim of the steering wheel. Price opened the side door and, with a grimace, grabbed the driver by the jacket and pulled. The limp body landed on the ground with a thump. It was Azam Chaman-Gul.

"Good riddance," Collins heard Price mutter as she stepped over the body of the dead police sergeant and climbed into the drivers seat. Both side windows were shattered, and at least one bullet had smashed right into the speedometer, rendering it, and most of the instruments around it, useless. The windshield was miraculously unscathed, though a bit dirty, but where the ignition key should be located was now just a big cracked hole in the plastic. Collins looked down, just seeing a snakes nest of multicoloured wires inside.

He leaned back in his seat and sighed.  
"Well, that's a bit of a bummer."  
"Don't worry, sir," Price said, "I've done this a thousand times."  
She grabbed the plastic panel with two hands and started to bend and push. Soon it broke loose and she threw it unceremoniously out the open door. With the tip of her knife she then selected two wires from the huddle of electronics beneath and cut them. When she touched the two ends together the engine rattled to life, and soon it was purring nicely.

"Seems like we're good to go."  
Price shifted gear and the van rocked into motion.  
"Though we'll have a bit of explaining to do it we run into highway patrol."  
"Lets hope it won't come to that." Collins said and turned around and inspected the back. There were nine passenger seats so they should be able to fit everyone in nicely. Although the situation was still grave Collins began to feel slightly more optimistic. He turned back to Price and gave her a nod and a thin smile.

"Good work, Price. Let's roll."

They packed everybody in and began driving back to combat outpost Archibald as fast as they dared. There was no time drive off the roads, they needed to get in range. The van was off road capable, but it was no Humvee, and the last thing they wanted right now was to get stuck in a ditch somewhere.

Price drove on the narrow tortuous dirt road with the confidence and speed of a rally driver, spraying gravel in every twist and turn, working the stick like it was a balancing act that needed constant readjustments. Collin felt every swaying and groaning of the vehicle in the base of his stomach. He didn't like it.

"Are you sure you can handle this speed?"  
"Yes sir. Used to cannonball on winding roads like this all the time back home, where one wrong move would grant you either a sudden stop into a

boulder or a fifty foot drop into the ocean."  
"But a heavy car like this?"  
"Sure, I drove whatever I could get my hands on. I wasn't picky as long as it moved."  
Collins let that sink in for a while.  
"You mean you were stealing cars?"  
Price pursed her lips and tilted her head in thought.  
"Well, let's say I borrowed them, they were always returned in more or less the same state as I found them in." She grinned.

"More or less. But all that was way back, when I was young and foolish."

"Young and foolish?" Collins scoffed. "How old are you now, Price?"

"Twenty two, sir. And look at me in this fucking uniform and all; still foolish I guess."

They saw the road block from quite a distance. A beaten up brown civilian pickup with some kind of large machine-gun mounted on the back stood parked to the side, and three men stood by the road. The Taliban flag with its elaborate black shahada on white dangled from a pole on the other side of the road. No-one manned the pickup's machine-gun and the posture of the men seemed relaxed.

"They must think we are civilians. We got the sun in our back, so we might make it close enough to get to them." Price gave him a quick glance. "You need to remove your helmet though or they may get suspicious. And sir? I need to borrow your sidearm."

"Right," Collins interrupted her, "But I'm not issued a sidearm, Corporal, only got this rifle."

He patted his M4 carbine and Price gave him a quick glance. "Shit."

The distress were apparet on her face and by the way she squeezed the steering wheel with gloved hands. "Then we'll improvise. You take out the two on the right and I'll take the one to the left. Okay?"

She gave him another glance, now with something almost pleading in her eyes before continuing. "Or do you have a better plan?"

There were no way they would be able to drive around or just drive through the road block without risking considerable losses of both life and the vehicle's operability. Price had assessed the situation and had come up with a plan as good as he was able to do, so he had nothing to add. And they were mere seconds away from executing it, so there wasn't really like they had any choice anyway. Collins just shook his head and grabbed his rifle. He turned to the squad in the back.

"Keep your heads down and we'll take care of the rest."  
He sincerely hoped.  
The squad in the passenger seats hunkered down the best they could as the

van rolled forth on the narrow dirt road, at a moderate speed to not evoke suspicion. When they got closer they saw that the three men were barely more than boys, with thin and frizzy beards, if they even could be called beards. The Russian made carbines they carried were no playthings though. As they drove nearer, two of the boys moved to the side of the road, but the third one walked out with his hand raised, wearing an expression of great importance on his face while he signalled for them to stop.

Collin didn't have to look at Corporal Price to feel her questioning gaze on him, but there were no way out of this. If they just drove on, those automatic carbines would tear this tin can of a car to shreds, and everybody within it. And there was no chance that they would pass as civilians, even if they didn't stop for a chat. Collins clenched his teeth. They had go through with this, to hesitate now was not an option.

"Do it." He said as he stuck the barrel of his rifle out his side window to aim.

Price shifted down and stomped on the gas, making the engine roar and the heavy car to lurch and lunge forwards. The three boys' faces lit up in surprise, then Collins rifle barked twice, sending the two boys on the right side of the road flat on the ground with gaping red holes in their chests. The remaining boy's face of surprise turned to stark horror when Price steered the accelerating van right at him. With wide eyes and a shrieking yelp he brought up his rifle to fire. The bullets smacked into the car, then the impact when the boy was hit rocked the big vehicle with a loud crash. He was plunged forcefully, backwards, leaving a bloody smear on the cracked windshield, then he disappeared under the car, which bumped and shook as it rolled over the boy, grinding him into a bloody heap of human remains against the stony ground.

Collins looked back out the window as they sped away to see if there were any hostiles left that they hadn't noticed, but all he could see where the shapes of the three dead bodies lying by the roadside. He let out a deep huff and felt his heart beat hard in his chest as he sat down in his seat again and turned to Price. They had made it through. He was about to say, "Well done," but the words got stuck in his throat when he saw the look on Price's face. She was staring straight forward with white cheeks. He heard her mumble to herself under her breath, "I swear to all that's fucking holy that if I survive I'm so hella done with this fucking shit..."

Collins sat silent. He wanted to tell her that this was an ugly a war as war comes, and it wasn't her fault. That they had been put in an impossible situation where it had been them or us, that the responsibility for this grim thing they had done was solely on him. But in the moment he couldn't formulate anything that didn't sound weak or mendacious. Instead Collins cleared his throat and turned away, looking to the back of the van to inspect the others.

"Everybody all right?" He asked in a raspy voice.

"Not worse than before," Diaz whimpered as he clutched his wounded side.

Collins looked at Sergeant Jabocy in the back row.  
"Any contact with Archibald yet?"  
Jacoby shook his head. "Not yet, sir, but we should be in range any minute

I think. We are probably still in radio shadow."  
"Okay, keep trying."  
He turned back to watch the road ahead. It looked empty, and Price now had accelerated to a good speed of nearly 90 kilometers per hour. It made him hold on to his car seat and feel slightly lightheaded in the curves and brows of the narrow and winding road. The wounded in the back grumbled silently when they were thrown about with the rocking motions of the van's manoeuvres, but no-one voiced a protest.

Collin sniffed the air.  
"What's that smell?"  
The faint acrid fume reminded him of burnt rubber, and it seemed to get stronger by the minute.  
"Is it from the car?"  
"Yeah," Price stared forward, clutching the wheel hard, still looking a bit pale, "We're leaking something, probably oil, sir. The engine got hit, either by the... the... collision, or when that rifle went off. We've got a couple of new bullet holes underneath, methinks."

Collins felt a queasy sensation in his stomach, and he wasn't sure it was only from the movements of the fast-travelling car.

"How bad?"

Price shifted gear and braked the heavy car smoothly into the upcoming curve before pressing down the pedal again, shifting and accelerating, making the tortured engine squeal and sending a rain of stones and dust behind them. Her eyes followed the road ahead with a glazed stare.  
"We will make it to the base, sir, but we're maybe not going to drive this van again any time soon."

"Oh," Collins said, relieved, "And how long until we reach the base?"

He hadn't checked his maps since they left the village. Though he really should have, he had simply forgot.

"In five minutes tops, sir, but we really should go off road now for the last couple of klicks."

Collin shook his head.  
"Negative, Corporal. We need to get there as soon as possible."  
"Sir," Price said, unable to hide her scepticism, "Don't you think they will be watching the road too if they are to attack the base?"  
"Yeah, but what was that roadblock back there then?" He gestured

backwards with his head whence they had come.  
"Those fucking kids?" She scoffed. "They were no soldiers, sir. They were put there to hinder civilians from entering a war zone. The enemy is as interested in causing collateral damage as we are."

She darted him a quick glance before putting her eyes back on the road again and added, in a more considerate tone this time:

"Hearts and minds and all that shit, sir, that's my take on it anyway." Collin though about it, and it made sense. But it didn't matter.  
"We continue on the road, Corporal. We have no time to be careful, and I bet they will not shoot at a civilian car."

Price looked sceptical, but then she nodded.  
"Alright, you're the boss."  
As they raced over a crest and sped down the other side of the hill they

saw COP Archibald in the hazy distance. Everything looked calm over there, but they were still too far away to be able to see anything clearly. Collins turned around to ask Jacoby about the communications, but Jacoby held up a hand to him, signalling to Collins to be quiet while he listening intently in the com radio. He then changed his hand into a thumbs up.

"Got them, sir! No sign of an attack yet, but they are scrambling to defensive positions now."

"Good. Tell them we'll be there in five minutes, and ask them to send for air support and a med transport. We got at least one wounded that needs medical attention off base."

"And Jake," It was Price who spoke this time, though she sounded unusually strained, "You might want to tell them we're coming in a civilian car, or we could find ourselves at the receiving end of an unfortunate misunderstanding."

After driving for a couple of minutes, the silence was broken by the distant booms from several bombs going off from many kilometers away. Dark brown pillars of smoke and dust rose up high on the horizon over where Camp Archibald lay and started to drift off in the steady breeze. Collins turned around once again and gave Jacoby a worried glance.

"They are under attack, sir," Jacoby answered and listening to his com unit. A smile grew on his face. "But they've got close air support from a couple of Warthogs of the 74th, so they are good, for now."

"Great," Collins said and nodded in return, though the 'for now' nagged in the back of his head.

Price leaned forward over the wheel and squinted her eyes.

"Yeah I can see them, they are coming in for a second pass from the east now."

Collins felt his heart in his throat as the car swerved and swayed at the edge of the dirt road.

"The road, Price!"

She immediately straightened up the big car and focused her eyes forward again.

"Sorry, sir." She said from between clenched teeth.

A short while later, the white Volkswagen came to a screeching halt in the middle of the camp. They flung up their doors, and as soon as Collins had set foot on the ground, Sergeant Oderman came running. He seemed exited. Collins calmed him with a raised palm.

"Report, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir. All is under control. Thanks to your warning we had time to call in the flyboys." He glanced at the shot up and mangled minibus. "Nice ride by the way, sir. What the hell happened to you?"

"That's a story for another time. Where are the insurgents now?"

"They are scattered all over the area from there to there." Oderman gestured with his hand out over the surrounding terrain. "North just arrived with the second squad from the, uh, north, sir, hitting them in the flank. That broke up the last of'em."

Oderman gave Collins an eager look.  
"Sir. Permission to take first squad and help them clean up, sir?"  
Collins didn't have to think long about it.  
"Do it, but take no unnecessary risks, okay?"  
Oderman answered with a big grin, then he turned and started shouting at his men, and within a minute they had boarded their Humvees and driven away. Jacoby ordered the rest of his squad to take over the defensive positions left by first squad while Collins went to check on Diaz, now in the hands of platoon medic Lemma. Diaz had been moved from the Volkswagen to the house while waiting for the medevac to arrive. Lemma greeted him as he ducked in through the low door into the small makeshift medic station. When Collin got there, Diaz was sleeping calmly though he looked very pale.

"Something penetrated his right lung, probably part of the bullet or a bone splinter, but there is no sign of pneumothorax. The medevac is here to pick him up in a minute so he is not in any immediate danger, sir."

Collins nodded and turned to go before he changed his mind and turned back to Lemma.  
"Did you take a look at William's nose too?"  
"Yes, the nose is broken, and he has lost a couple of front teeth, so I want to send him with the medevac too, if possible."  
Collins nodded once more before he stepped out in the sunshine again.

The ambulance helicopter came and went, picking up Diaz and Williams. Collins went around and checked the remaining soldiers, and everyone seemed all right. He also checked on first and second squad, and they did their job without any major hiccups. The day that had begun as a real fubar shit show finally seemed to end under some sort of control after all. No small thanks to the brash actions by Price.

Where were Price by the way? Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her when he had done his round earlier.

Collins trotted over the empty courtyard to try and find Sergeant Jacoby to ask him about her when he saw the white Volkswagen van parked in the courtyard. On a hunch he passed by it and peeked inside. Someone lay slumped motionless in the drives seat. It was Price. Apparently she hadn't moved at all since they had arrived and was looking as still, pale and yellowish as a wax doll. Even her lips where the exact same color as her pallid skin. Price's eyes where closed and Collins wasn't even sure she breathed. He nudged her through the open window and called her name, but got no reaction. Collins grabbed at the handle and pulled at the door with force, and it swung open easily, almost too easily. Price's body immediately fell out when the support from the door disappeared, and Collins was just able to catch her before she hit the ground. Something in her lax fingers got caught in the breeze and fluttered away to the ground but he had no time to think about that now. He needed help here. Collins looked around and found private Ash in a nearby foxhole. Collins called out to him.

"Hey, go get the platoon medic," he shouted, holding Price in his arms, "We've got an injured here, bleeding out. Hurry!"

He laid her down carefully and checked her breathing. It was very weak and shallow, but it was there. God knows for how long though. Collins then quickly checked for any wounds in the head and neck area, before lifting up her feet and legs in the open door of the van, thus elevating them and letting blood from the legs pour back into her body and head. When he removed his hand from her left leg he noticed it was red and sticky. He lifted her army jacket and a t-shirt soaked in blood and saw a small entry wound located an inch or so above her left haunch bone. Dark red blood were still oozing out but what had probably been a stream was now just a small trickle. He pressed his gloved hand against it and was just about to search for an exit wound when platoon medic Lemma came running in company with Ash, carrying an olive colored freezer bag.

Lemma lifted Collins hand to look at the wound, then he motioned for him to continue press against its while he unpacked two glass bottles of freeze- dried blood plasma from the bag that he quickly filled up with distilled water and swirled around until the straw-coloured solution had been completely mixed. Then he expertly connected both IV lines and its needles to Prices arms, one in each. Lemma buttoned up her jacket and took out a scissor and cut up her t-shirt and stripped her down to her sports bra and ran his hands over Price's abdomen, pressing down carefully here and there. It made Price groan weakly.

"Hey there, Bulldog," Lemma said, "How are you doing?"

She didn't open her eyes but made a small lopsided smile, then answered in a thin, breathy voice.

"Bloody pants, tummy... ache, so-so mood. Going... through this... every month, Doc. Nothin... I can't... handle."

"Hah, right. Remember how you got injured?"

"No idea," Price whispered, "But we got fired upon on our way here though."

Lemma nodded. "Probably a ricochet. I'm going to check your leg now for additional wounds, okay?"

He used the same scissor as before to swiftly cut through her left pant leg. Price's leg was smeared in blood well down below the knee but the leg itself was unharmed. All the blood had come from the abdominal wound.

Collins stood anxiously and watched it all, still pressing his hand against

Price's hip area, but he knew better than to interrupt when Lemma was working. Lemma gestured for Collins to lift and then he examined the entry wound, cleaned it, taped it close and put on a big patch of wad.

"Just for now until she gets to surgery," Lemma said as an answer to Collins questioning look. Then he turned to Price as he fetched a syringe from his bag and readied it for injection.

"Here's something for the pain," He said as he put the needle in her arm, "Doesn't matter how hardcore you are, Bulldog. Doctor's order."

After a moment Collins could see how Price relaxed and sank back on the ground, eyes closed. "Thanks, Doc, that hit the spot."

Collins took Lemma aside and asked in a low voice, "Is Price going to be all right? She's already looking better."

Lemma shrugged and glanced back at Price lying on the ground with her eyes closed, she had one folded blanket under her head and one spread on top of her. Both her legs where still up in the van's driver's compartment.

"The blood from her legs helps, but only for a limited time. She has lost a lot and I have no idea how messed up she is on the inside." Lemma gave a slight shake of his head. "But I can tell you it's not good, sir. And the bullet shrapnel is still in there somewhere. She won't stop bleeding internally by herself and the plasma will only keep her going for so long, so she needs to get up on the operations table asap."

"But she will make it?"

"Sir, Price is tough as nails, but no-one survives this kind of extensive haemorrhage untreated. I've done what I can, now it's just a race against the clock."

When Lemma saw the look on Collins' face, he added, "I'm sorry, sir, I wish I could do more."

Collins felt his heart sink. He wasn't ready for his first casualty. Not now. Not on his first real command, and not Price. He let out a long breath trying to release his tension.

"Okay, so what now?"

"Set someone to watch over her, sir, and tell me if she is in pain or if she loses consciousness. Keep her still, keep her awake, and keep her talking. And get that medevac back here as soon as possible, if you haven't radioed for it yet."

Damn, he had forgotten about that. Put that down on the list of other things he had completely forgotten or screwed up today.

When Lemma had left, Collins told Ash to stay with Price while he ran for the radio room and radioed the medical transport to return back for one more wounded. It took some convincing before they reluctantly agreed as they would be dangerously low on fuel for the final trip, but now they were finally on their way.

When Collins came back Price seemed to have fallen asleep. He ordered Ash away to wait for the incoming helicopter and direct the medics to where Price lay, then he and sat down beside her. She looked very peaceful where she lay. Lemma had said that she should not lose consciousness and he wondered if he should try and wake her up. Prices breathing was comparable calm and steady, but a voice in his head told him that it probably had to do with the analgesics. She was still unnaturally palish, looking more like a paper doll than human. Without really knowing why, Collins grabbed her slim but strong and calloused hand in his. Her fingers and nails where a pale white in his tanned hand.

Price opened her left eye half-ways and gave him a small smirk.

"Holding hands?" She made a small coughing noise. "I never took you for being the mushy type, Collins."

Collins immediately let go of her. He hadn't blushed this much since he had walked into the girls locker room by mistake in fifth grade. But, he decided not to care right now. In the background he could finally hear the chop-chop-chop-chop from the helicopter coming in. It should arrive in just a moment.

"You just hang in there, Corporal, the medevac is almost here." "I'm not going anywhere, Lieutenant, just resting a bit."  
Price laughed a weak and raspy laugh, still with eyes closed.  
"Talk about a heroes death, eh? Bleeding out on a parking lot from a

ricochet fired by a kid. I sure got what I deserved."  
She began a smile but it turned into a grimace. For the first time, Price

winced. It made his heart jump.  
"Are you in pain?" He asked, ready to go get Lemma again, but Price slowly shook her head.  
"You know what those crazy bayoneting Brits are saying, that the reason you should scream like hell when you spear your enemy is that if you don't, you will hear _his _scream for the rest of your life."

Collins wondered if she wanted him to say something, because he didn't know what to say, but Price continued.

"I always though that sounded kind of silly, y'know, but now," she grimaced again, her gaze far off in the sky," Now I begin to think there is some truth to it."

Collins gave her a long look. He didn't have to guess what was moving inside her mind right now.

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?" He said, finally. "I mean, what could you have done?"

Price opened her eyes and looked back at him, a frown on her face.  
"So who's fault is it? Are you telling me that I was just following orders?" Collins moved his head in something in-between a nod and a shake. "Well, yes, and I, as your superior, are the one who got you into that situation and I'm the one to take responsibility. That's how it works. We are professionals, right?"

Price looked away in silence, and when she answered, her voice was dark.

"Yeah, I know the system is set up, how it's supposed to free me from guilt and all that shit. But still, I'm the one who did it, and I'll have to try and live with it now." Her blue eyes met his. "And let me tell you, it's fucking not going swell."

Collins had no answer for that.

They sat in silence while the sound of the helicopter drew nearer, then Price grabbed his hand. The look on her was honest and open for once, her signature cocky face all but gone. Price started to move her lips well before any sound came over them. After what seems to be a major effort of willpower, she spoke.

"Can you... can you do me a favor, Collins? It's a big one."

"Anything, soldier, you saved my life today. You probably saved all our lives..."

"If I..." Price said, interrupting him, then she paused, staring out in the nothingness. "If I should go to that yonder place..." She nodded at the blue cloudless sky. When she continued her voice was hushed but unusually earnest, for once devoid of any of her usual sarcasm and attitude.

"Can you tell my mom I love her? And that I am so very sorry."  
She turned and looked into his eyes, while seemingly looking for words. "I... I can be a bit thrifty with my feelings sometimes, and my mom and I, we didn't part on the best terms, if you know what I mean." She sighed deeply. "I am an only child, y'know, and this... was what she dreaded the most."

Collins nodded silently. It must be a parent's worst nightmare. And add to that an only child.

"And Max. " Price mumbled, even quieter. Collins noted that her eyes had a shine to them now. "Can you tell Max..."

He looked away and cleared his throat.

"Of course I'll tell Max you love him," He assured her, "But there will be no need. You can tell him that yourself. And your mother."

He tried a smile at her, but he wasn't sure of how it came out.

"You're going to get through this, Price." He reached out and squeezed her arm awkwardly. "Just keep that fighting spirit and everything will be fine, alright?"

They looked at each other under silence as seconds and minutes dragged on. At last Price opened her mouth to say something, it looked like it was important, but in just that second four medics came running out of the blue, carrying a stretcher between them.

"Please step away, sir, we're taking over now."

Collins moved aside. The medics carefully lifted up Price on the stretcher, and while one of them quickly changed one of the plasma bottles to a bag of real blood, another one checked her wound and talked to her to assess her status. The other two fastened her with broad straps over the legs and chest so she would lie secure. Thirty seconds later they had grabbed the handles of the stretcher and was preparing to lift her.

Price looked like she just had come to think of something.  
"Wait. I had... something... here."  
She seemed rather distressed and mumbled to herself all the while checking her pockets of her jacket with shaky hands, then her shredded army pants, then tried to glance down at the ground, an unhappy expression on her face, until she gave up and leaned her head back heavily in a resting position again.

"Oh, fuck it, man. Why do I always have to fuck things up..."

"No time, soldier," Collins said as the two medics hoisted her up and began to carry her towards the helicopter waiting a short distance away, rotors running just below lift-off speed. "You need to be on your way yesterday."

Collins walked by her side all the way to the air ambulance. As she was lifted into the back of the large helicopter, Collins gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and made a salute that he hoped would look encouraging. Price gave him a little thumbs up, but the last thing he saw of her was Price just staring up in the roof with an unreadable expression on her face, and looking ghostly pale. One of the med personnel started to close the door and shouted at him over the increasing roar of the rotors.

"Please stay clear, sir, we're dusting off immediately."

The big Blackhawk helicopter took off in a large cloud of dust, just as the "dusting off" suggested. Collins stood at a safe distance and watched it as it rose higher and higher before it turned majestically in the air and started to make its way towards the western horizon. When it was no more than a tiny speck against the blue midday sky he turned around and started walking back. He was feeling all empty inside, but there wasn't much more he could do. Besides, he had a lot of work to do now, writing reports, requesting replacements, recommending soldiers for promotion, and even write recommendations for a medal or two. And, he needed to get directions from head quarters regarding a new contact with the locals. So, there was no time to waste. Collins marched over the yard towards the ops room and his small office at the back when he saw something on the ground. It was a photograph, lying in the gravel, looking very out of place. He reached down and picked it up; it was a square photo, like an old instant Polaroid picture, smudged with what must be blood in one corner. Collins pursed his lips. This must be what Price had dropped when he had lifted her out of the van's driving seat. He turned away from the sun to be able to get a better look at it.

The photo depicted Price and a very cute brunette with freckles, protruding ears, and lively blue-gray eyes. The brunette was the one taking the photo, looking straight into the camera with a happy smile on her face. Price stood at her left side, not looking the same way, but instead at the girl while casually holding an arm around her slim stature. Price seemed to be at least a couple of inches taller than the brown haired girl and her shoulders

looked about twice as wide. They were both red cheeked and red nosed, so the photo was probably taken in cold weather. In the background stood a humongous old verdigris suspension bridge against a cloudy sky, spanning over the whole of the photo. Collins looked at Price and the girl again, trying to figure out their relation. Could they be sisters? They looked nothing alike, and the sidelong glance Price gave the brunette sure didn't look very sisterly. The plain display of feelings on Price's face made Collins smile, but also feeling a bit ashamed. He felt like a peeping tom looking at something private, something very intimate he wasn't supposed to have seen. It was a very good picture.

_Not as thrifty as you think, Price. _

He turned the photo around and dusted it off. A single heart was drawn on the whole of the backside in thick blue ink, the words "MAX + CHLOE FOREVER" was written in the center in a meticulous and distinctively feminine hand that probably wasn't Price's. Collins felt his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. So, _this _was Max. Not a lucky guy after all then, but a lucky gal. He shook his head in mild amusement. Who would've thought. And Chloe, that was Price of course. Chloe Price.

Collin was about to laugh out loud about his own misconception, but then his face took a more somber expression. He really hoped this Max would bring luck with her, because Price, Chloe, surely needed every morsel she could get right now.

Lieutenant Collins couldn't believe how much of army life consisted of paper work! Several days had passed since the events at Sunj Moleka and the assault on Archibald, and he was still swamped with writing reports, documenting events and making recommendations and more, and add to that all the regular responsibilities he had as the platoon leader. Platoon sergeant North gave him a helping hand whenever he could, but Collins still felt pretty snowed over, if that could be a thing in Afghanistan. And it wasn't just him. While they were waiting for replacements everyone were strained. On top of all this he was also scheduled to witness in court in three days about the dead police sergeant, though his superiors assured him it was just a formality. On the plus side, he had also noticed that his solider met him with a new kind of gruff respect, calling him Kamikaze behind his back, but only when they though he couldn't hear it. He guessed it was a kind of progress.

The day before he had had Price's belongings packed up. Among that also the photo that Collins had found, which he secretly stashed inside a diary of some sort (that he didn't read). Everything was now waiting to be sent back with the next convoy, which also should bring in some fresh troops. Also, more on the plus side, they were scheduled to get some armoured vehicles soon, to replace their ageing Humvees, which everyone seemed happy about, though everybody seemed pretty down about Price not coming back. The platoon sure was a more boring place without her around. But, at the same time they were all happy that she had made it out alive. Last Collins had heard via Williams, or Redbeard as he was often called now and who just had come back from his own stay at the field hospital, she had been flown back home to the states and was going through a series of complicated surgeries, but in the end she would be all right. Of course Price had been honourably discharged from the army along with a Purple Heart, so suddenly she was out in the civilian life, probably a bit earlier than she had originally thought. And even if she didn't have a plan but instead took each day as it came, Collins hoped that she could spend those days in peace together with her girlfriend, Max.

He sat down in his cramped little office and woke up the computer. He had written a lot of reports and even recommendations lately, but for some reason he had postponed this one to the very last. Collins took a sip from his cup of instant coffee, opened a new document on the computer and started to write.

MEMORANDUM FOR: Col. Davy W Prats, 503rd Infantry Regiment  
FROM: 1st Lt. Benjamin Collins, 503rd Infantry Regiment  
SUBJECT: Letter of recommendation concerning Medal of Honor for Cpl Chloe Price, 3rd Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment

For heroism in connection with military operations against a hostile force near Sunj Moleka, Afghanistan the 7th of October 2016. Corporal Price distinguished herself conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk ofher life above and beyond the call of duty. Corporal Price continually exposed herself to enemy fire during the attack and prevented many friendly casualties by warning her comrades of an enemy ambush and directing fire. By manning a machine gun in a burning vehicle, without consideration of her own safety, she singlehandedly drove the enemy from the battlefield, causing them irreparable losses in the area. Corporal Price's display of initiative, personal bravery and devotion to duty is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflects great credit upon herself, the 503rd Infantry Regiment, and the United States Army


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